


Gift of Living Well

by esama



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Do not repost, Don't copy to another site, Fictional Religion & Theology, Kid Fic, M/M, Old Desmond Miles, Past Child Abuse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2019-10-28 05:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 109,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17781176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: Desmond didn't use the Eye, the world burned, people rebuilt and world continued.It's been almost 300 years since then, and what was built is coming to a head.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by Nimadge
> 
> Background music [Journey OST](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXD2eWLqzU0&list=PLBDBA870DF26340C0)

Desmond wakes up refreshed. No back ache, no weariness – his body feels nothing of the usual aches it did just the night before and his neck feels fine, the chronic spinal pain gone. Before he even opens his eyes he knows _something_ had happened and sighs.

It takes a while before he musters up the strength of will to get up. Maybe if he just lays there, the world would not find him and time would pass him finally by and he could lay down and just… never get up again.

Outside the Mercy Bell rings, signaling the end of the morning prayer. Well that explains why he feels so much better today – he'd overslept and missed the service and no one had come to wake him up. He had been feeling a little under the weather before, which also explains the lack of acolytes underfoot. Obviously this was planned.

The bell rings seven times in total, and with a sigh Desmond sits up, staring at the covers of his bed for a moment and then looking at his hands. As expected, the infection has grown overnight – all of his fingers are golden now, from tip to the base of the knuckle. Would it start spreading over the knuckles next, spilling out to his palms, eventually covering his hand completely?

How soon until he had Midas' hands?

Snoring tiredly, Desmond pushes the duvets aside – they don't turn to gold at his touch, thankfully – and then goes to do his morning ablutions, ignoring the shimmering of golden circuitry that runs throughout walls of his chambers and even in his bathrooms. Instead he splashes water on his circuits-adorned face before taking a close look at the mirror.

No changes there, not that he can see. Still grey haired and bearded, with amber gold eyes – they're not glowing, thankfully. Maybe a few wrinkles less than last night, but overall it's the same weary old man in his reflection. They must've not shaved much of his age, thirty years maybe. Not as bad as he thought.

And he can't say he minds the spine correction.

Desmond finishes in the bathroom and then goes to pull on his robes, forgoing all the ceremonious stuff someone had laid out for him as he usually does. Pants, simple white hooded robe, scarf, shoes – that's about as ceremonious as he's feeling this morning.

Of course, there are acolytes waiting for him outside the door – and one of the elder Adepts. Her face visibly brightens at the sight of him standing up straight rather than at a forward bow. "Oh, a Faithful day, Mentor! You look so much brighter today! Please tell me, how do you feel?"

She must've conducted the Faith then. "Prayed upon," Desmond says with some wry amusement and steps forward – she falls into step with him, the acolytes falling behind them into an eager procession, ready to obey their every whim. "I assume the morning's mass was about me, then?"

"Yes – we prayed for your health and long life," she agrees happily. "I am overjoyed to see it had made you strong once more, Mentor. I believe you should conduct the noon prayers – I am sure the congregation would be glad to see you, and the good effect their Belief had on you."

Desmond smothers a sigh. "Certainly," he says. "I can say a few words. What's the subject?"

"A new prayer hall by the fourteenth street – here," she says and holds out her own, circuit-adorned hand. A hologram of a map appears above her palm and behind them the acolytes whisper in amazement, as she shows a map of the city and the space intended for the new prayer hall. "Connected by the line of the 14th street to the Main Street, it will be directly connected to the Great Temple."

"As are they all," Desmond says and takes the hologram from her hand. "Do we need a new prayer hall?"

"The people in that area have expressed that is is difficult to reach and take part in mass from where they are – and the prayer hall in the area is often very full."

"Right. Do we have a new design or are we using an old one?"

"Adept Devon has a design, he designed a new hall with the architects – it can accommodate comfortably more people."

"Someone get Adept Devon for me, then," Desmond says and immediately one of the acolytes dashes off to fulfill the order. Desmond glances after them, abruptly realising he had no idea what the acolyte is called, and then looks ahead.

He doesn't even know what the Adept he's taking do is called.

Looking ahead, Desmond concentrates until he does know. The acolytes names and histories appear into his mind like entries on a database and so does the Adept's at his side. Adept Jessica of Turin, a Third Adept of the Mentor's inner circle, second only to Adepts Mark and Susan, the second and first respectively.

How many that makes, now? Desmond has completely lost track.

They make it to the main hall, where people are getting into their first meal of the day. It's being shared around the room in bowls and baskets – bread, beans, corn and hell of a lot of salad. Damn, but Desmond misses the dairy and meat industry.

Then his eyes are drawn to the head of the hall, to the table where he usually eats with the Adepts – and sees they have guests. Armoured and well armed guests, who are tucking into the food with gusto while taking to Adepts Mark and Susan.

"We have guests?" Desmond asks Adept Jessica.

"Yes, Mentor, the emissaries from Boston," she says. "Here to pay their respects to you. They arrived yesterday."

"Yesterday I wasn't feeling very well."

"No, Mentor, but today you are healthy and strong," Jessica says serenely and points him helpfully towards the table.

Desmond clasps his hands behind his back and goes, nodding his head to servants, Adepts, acolytes and the rest of the Faithful, accepting their quiet words with smiles.

"Good morning, Mentor."

"It's good to see you strong again, Mentor."

"My Faith is in you, Mentor."

The procession of greetings and supplication catches the eye of their diplomatic guests and as they turn to him, Desmond concentrates until information avails itself to him. Misters Barrow and Kennedy, huh? Of the Boston City Council, nonetheless. Impressive.

"So, this is the Miracle of God King of the Golden City of Turin," Mr. Barrow says. "You make an old man slightly less old. We can do that in Boston too – its called makeup."

Desmond arches his brow and glances at his senior Adepts – who look somewhat uncomfortable at the sight of him. Had they tried to make him younger? Probably.

"Good morning Mentor – a Faithful day to you," Mark offers.

"It is good to see you strong and healthy again," Susan adds. "Our prayers were with you this morning."

"I felt it," Desmond agrees and takes a seat among his Adepts. "What brings members of Boston city council to Turin, then? I was under the impression we were heretics and demons, going by the last time we saw your kind."

The two diplomats look dubious.

"Mentor, that was almost eighty years ago," Susan says delicately.

"Was it?" Desmond muses and reaches for the food "I guess I stopped paying attention to them after they threatened to sack my city and burn me at a stake. What do they want?"

There's a moment of hesitation before Mr. Kennedy speaks. "Boston city council is looking to open new avenues of trade with neighbouring city states," he says and launches into explanation of their growing shipping industry and all the great goods they have to offer, the pre-Flare technology they had resurrected, there old sciences they are willing to share…

Desmond loses interest halfway through. This explains why his Adepts held a mass for him now – they were looking to impress the Sceptics.

"What does Boston have that we want?" Desmond asks Mark, breaking a piece of bread half. Man, he misses butter. "That we can't make ourselves."

Mark coughs. "Access to the ocean, my Mentor," he says quietly. "And shipbuilding."

"Month of prayers and we'll have a canal right to the ocean and I can design ships myself if we really need foreign trade that much," Desmond says and looks up as another Adept situated the high table. "Devon?" Desmond more guesses than greets.

"My Mentor – a Faithful day, you are well again," the man says.

"The congregation's Faith is strong," Desmond sighs. "You have a new prayer hall design?"

"Yes, Mentor – here."

The emissaries from Boston watch the data transfer closely, as Devon holds the hologram over his gold lined palm and Desmond takes it in his golden fingers. Desmond examines the design idly – it's not bad, though a little foreign to his eyes. He prefers more old-fashioned designs. Well, if the Adepts agreed on it…

"Is that the thing you wanna build in Boston?" Mr. Barrow asks.

Desmond blinks. "Excuse me?"

"There have been talks of a prayer hall in Boston," Mark explains delicately and softly - as if to a child. "The Boston City council is considering building one in your honour. It would be a great opportunity to spread the word of the Faith."

Ah, Desmond thinks and closes his eyes. "Very well – do as you will," he says and gets up, his appetite gone. "You seem quite adept at it."

"Mentor –"

"I will see you all at noon prayers – or I suppose you will be at the site of the new prayer hall?" Showing the power of Faith off to their guests...

"Yes, Mentor," Mark says, subdued.

Desmond nods and walks away, ignoring the acolytes that quickly follow him, and leaving the Adepts to their diplomacy, sighing at he leaves the main hall behind.

He's quite lost the control of his city, hasn't he?

Desmond walks out of the building and into the clean streets of the Golden City of Turin. It has spread all around the Temple Hill on which the Grand Temple of the Faith stands, still taller than even the tallest towers and prayer halls in the city. More streets, more buildings, more prayer halls, most of them old fashioned one way or another. There's still a bit of his own bias there, in the design of the city – he could never shake off the fondness for Renaissance architecture.

Hell, the Great Temple itself is an exact replica of the Santa Maria del Fiore, murals and all, with perfect duplicate of Giotto's Campanile beside it. It's stood for hundreds of years now, unchanged – not bad for a building held together by prayer.

Faith had helped him build a pretty damn impressive place – he doesn't regret it. Tens of thousands of people live in Turin now – that's higher population than some countries got these days. It's nothing to scoff at. But….

But Faith has gone down the paths he can't say he enjoys treading on. From a necessity to a way of life to a religion. With that path the city had changed and people with aptitude for controlling the Belief of others became Adepts, which is really just another word for a priest. How long until there will be bishops too? Probably not long. Honestly, the Adepts already serve that purpose for the most part.

And now they want to _spread the Faith._

Desmond sighs and turns towards the Temple Hill. There is a statue at the foot of the stairs that lead to the Great Temple. It depicts their return to the surface – him, Shaun, Rebecca and his dad. They are all long gone now, but the stairs are perfect, of course – he believed them into existence himself.

"How old am I now?" Desmond asks.

"My Mentor, you are 327 this year," a young acolyte says eagerly, stepping forward. There's a line of gold running down her check – she can't be older than seventeen, and already she's made herself part of the machine that is the Golden City of Turin.

"Thank you," Desmond says and sighs. _Too damn old_ , it's the answer there, really.

Not that he ever truly thought that the Faithful would just let him lay down and die, but – he wouldn't have minded it. There's a limit to how long someone should live, and he blew past it two hundred years ago. And he can't even tell his Adepts to just let him die, because then they will pray for him to find joy in life again and to regain his will to live, and then he'll go another fifty years without thinking about it twice. And Desmond understands why they do it, but…

He's tired. He doesn't care. It's been too long and he misses how things used to be more than he cares about building the future from this dystopian mess he created. The Faith let them survive and rebuild, but it's become a machine beyond what he imagined and it fucking _terrifies_ him, how it's changing people, and what people can do with it.

Desmond looks at the city he's made with the power of his Faithful, and he thinks, _Juno would have loved this place._ And if that's not a sign of something having gone horribly wrong, he doesn't know what is. And sure, he could still take over the control of the city and the Faith, his Prayer is still the strongest, but…

Well, that would make him just like the Isu, wouldn't it? And looking the part is bad enough.

Desmond wanders the High Temple district of Turin for a while, until one of his acolytes says, "My Mentor, it is soon time for noon prayers, we should begin making our way back."

"Certainly," Desmond answers, and together they turn towards the Great Temple, walking past the statue and up the stairs. Hundreds of people are doing the same, and as they pass him, they bow and murmur in supplication.

Desmond thinks of the past.

Almost three hundred years ago, there had been a cave where the stairs now sit. The Great Temple of the Faith is built right on top of the Grand Temple of the Isu – that's where all the circuitry runs, it's the foundation they built everything on – it's how the by now hundreds of prayer halls are connected and how tens of thousands of people can pray in perfect unison and harmony. The city itself is the machinery that makes it happen.

And whoever Guides the Prayer and Conducts the Sermon from the Grand Temple… chooses what the Faith of those tens of thousands of people will do. This morning they decided to make a man in his third century a little bit younger. This time, they will make a building from nothing – just like almost every building in the city was built.

And Desmond is tired of it. This ridiculous power and the hollow would-be-immortality. Juno was right.

There was nothing worse than becoming a god.

Some of his Adepts are waiting at the entrance with one of the emissaries – Mr. Kennedy. So they'd sent the louder Sceptic to witness the miracle of Faith, huh.

"Mentor," the Adepts greet him and bow him on the way in, all ceremonious. Desmond nods, wondering when all this pomp and circumstance became such a major part of his life, and then walks in.

Inside, the cathedral's beautifully tiled floor is covered in cushions, blankets and pillows, and already well over thousand of the Faithful have taken seats. Desmond walks past them to where the church altar would be, taking stand on the podium.

It takes about ten minutes for the hall to fill, with people murmuring. The Adepts sit near the front with Mr. Kennedy with them, watching.

Eventually the murmur quiets down, the temple doors close, and Desmond begins.

"Our Faith is an engine of Great Change," he begins, one of his older openings. "It can heal and build and remake. It can also destroy and unmake. This morning it healed," he motions to himself. "And now it shall build. There has been the call for a new prayer hall. Join me, and we shall make it be."

With that, he activates the city.

In unison his Adepts and acolytes begin following, the circuitry on their skin activating. Under their feet the Temple's connections turn on, line by line. Main Street and the adjacent streets, one by one connecting to the Great Temple. Then the smaller streets. Individual buildings.

Prayer halls.

Desmond closes his eyes and feels the power accumulate, as the people of the Golden City of Turin give themselves over to the soothing pull off the Apple's power, inlaid into every building of the city – and in almost every person too, these days. They've all given themselves up to Isu technology – they've all accepted its infection in return for power.

Desmond collects that power, a resource like no other, and then he bends it to the task designated for it. With the building designs and location in mind, he turns the Faith to that place, and together with minds of almost fifty thousand people… he begins to build.

And in that moment, he's shot through the chest.

A gunshot echoes, and part of the Faithful are shaken from their prayer – in the Great Temple, people scream with alarm. Desmond doesn't stop, doesn't break the connection with the city, but he becomes aware of his body. The impact was taken into the sternum and it bent the bullet's trajectory – it didn't hit his heart but went through his lung instead, and came out near his armpit. A lethal injury, nonetheless, unless someone takes up the prayer and turns it to healing him instead.

Desmond opens his eyes to a horrified, screaming congregation – and to find all his present Adepts painted red. Not the red of blood, but of enemies.

Kennedy is the shooter – he's still holding a gun in his hand, a proper old world revolver. How fucking ironic.

"The mentor had been wounded!"

"Someone, conduct the prayer to healing –"

"Adepts, help the Mentor!"

Desmond eyes his traitorous Adepts and for a moment he almost understands. He's never been a fan of spreading the Faith – there was a time when he strictly forbade it. He might be little more than a symbol of Faith's power these days, but then Jessica went and prayed for his healing – Mark and Susan hadn't agreed to it. Now he's clear-minded enough to oppose them again – and he's old, his politics are out of favour. And if they want the Faith to spread and become more powerful… he is in the way.

So, they arranged his assassination and he never suspected anything at the seat of his power, the place where he should be most invulnerable. And once this would all be over, they might use Faith to make people forget it ever happened.

It's just what he didn't ever wish to see all this become – a tool for personal power. If only he could've just died before it came to this, blissfully ignorant of the mess he'd made. The future that will follow from this will be hideous.

Someone is sobbing – the poor seventeen year old acolyte who told him his age. She's at his side, holding his hand, crying and trying to take the Prayer from him while the Adepts do nothing. She's trying to to save him, but she's not far enough in her training, she can't do it. Still, she tries.

And just like that, Desmond doesn't want to die.

He wants to undo a system he'd made, that made young girls cry at the death of fools at the behest of would-be-mind-controlling-tyrants. Once he died and the power of Conducting Faith fell in the hands of his killers, that's what it would become. Tyranny.

"What is your name?" Desmond asks the young acolyte, his mouth tasting like blood.

"Maria," she sobs.

Of course it is. "For you, Maria," Desmond says. "I'm going to undo everything. Do you believe me?"

" _Always_."

"Then have Faith."

The Prayer is still going – the prayer halls are unaware of what had occurred and are waiting, patient and eager for him to conduct them.

And so he does.

_Take me back before gods, before Faith, before Prophets – take me back so that I can undo this all._

And ever Faithful, the congregation Believes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So tumblr asked for older Desmond x younger Ezio, soooo... I wrote some nonsense.


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment it seems like nothing has changed – nothing except the people.

Desmond stands in the Great Temple of Golden City of Turin and he is completely alone. Even the usual blankets and pillows have disappeared as if into thin air, and for a moment Desmond wonders if he somehow dragged a portion of the city with him. The Great Temple has more of him in it than any other building in the city – when it was built there weren't that many people in the city yet, so the building process was supported mostly by his own Belief – so it would almost make sense that he would just… take the building with him.

Only it's not the same. The circuitry is gone, the ley lines of his city are missing – nowhere in here is there gold painted in streaks across the stonework. Instead there's  religious imagery from a faith that had no place in the city of the Faithful. Saints, crosses over tombs and statues, and in the place of the podium Desmond is standing instead on the stone floor, surrounded by strange arching barriers he almost remembers, but which never belonged in the Great Temple. Beyond them a section of the floor is broken, and above there are heavy, chandeliers.

Ah. It's not the Great Temple at all, is it?

For a moment Desmond stares up at the chandeliers and then he looks down, taking in the cathedral with greater interest – the actual, honest to God Duomo of Florence, Santa Maria del Fiore. The original version, that is. It looks _so much_ like the Great Temple, but the differences are marked too.

This is a place built by people, pristine in architecture but a little bit flawed, with cracks and broken bits. Time had done a number on this place. The Great Temple, on the other hand, was a little too perfect in comparison – and though centuries had passed since its making, it had not worn down the same way by time, and would not, not as long as people Believed.

Not that… that it exists anymore. And maybe it never would again.

Desmond frowns a little, taking in the empty cathedral for a moment. Then, curious, he sets out to find _when_ he is.

The place seems empty – lucky for him, really. Appearing here in middle of the Mass would have been… bad, probably. Looks like the cathedral was closed for a reason too – all the pews have been set aside and the floor space opened – everywhere there are scaffoldings. And it's _wooden_ scaffoldings, not metallic – and there's nothing by the way of electronics or more modern construction machinery or equipment. Even the nails with which the scaffolding is put together look handmade.

That doesn't bode well, does it?

Slowly Desmond walks to the great church doors, perpetually open in the Great Temple but locked here, and eases them open, just a little.

Outside the day is beautiful and the area around the cathedral is painfully familiar. But it's not the Golden City.

It's Florence. Florence full of Renaissance architecture, with people who walk the square in front of the cathedral wearing clothing befitting the time period – monks in robes and ladies in dresses, every man wearing hose and doublet, with a hat on their heads.

For a moment Desmond is tempted to close the door and hide in the cathedral until this turn of events makes sense – but it already does, doesn't it? It makes a little too much sense to be completely accidental. After all… he modelled the Golden City after Florence for a reason, didn't he? He made his Great Temple the copy of Santa Maria del Fiore for a reason. It's was probably always going to end up like this.

And this isn't his Temple – he can't stay here.

Bowing his head, Desmond pulls his white hood up and steps outside. The Sun seems both brighter and dimmer than he remembers – the air seems cooler and definitely cleaner. Time before the atmosphere was messed up, majority of Earth's forests burned and they suffered couple hundred years of a massive climate change, huh – he'd forgotten. The air smells different. Less ozone, probably.

There is a monk watching him with a curious look nearby, his eyes on Desmond's hands – his mostly _golden hands_ – so Desmond tucks his hands into his sleeves and moves out to blend into the crowd, disappearing into the early morning bustle of one of the greatest cities of Renaissance.

* * *

 

It's strange, being without the support of the City. He used it less and less as he grew older and older, but the Golden City of Turin worked a little like security net and internet – within it, he was always aware of everything going on around him, where and what everything important was. Most of their collective knowledge flowed in the circuitry of their city, and all one had to do was concentrate and they'd know whatever they needed to know.

Desmond feels unbearably alone in his skin – and the stares he's getting do not help. He's used to being in the centre of attention, but it's usually positive attention – in Florence people look at his gold-lined face and whisper behind their hands, and Desmond isn't instantly peripherally aware of what they are feeling or thinking – not until he concentrates enough for the Eagle Sense to activate, anyway, and then he can hear their muttering.

"... Can't be real gold, painted on the face like that…"

"... Fool's gold probably, has to be. Be idiotic to wear it like that if it wasn't…"

"... Maybe he's a moor – they have all sort of marks on their faces, tattoos and such. Do you think they do them in gold somehow?"

There's really no way to hide the circuitry on his face without wearing a full face mask or a veil – they reflect the light, after all – but Desmond can at least hide his hands with ease. Many people in Florence wear gloves, men and women – might be a status symbol of some kind. It shouldn't be too hard to snatch a pair. Only…

Only he's not quite the Assassin he used to be, is he? It's been… a very long time since he needed to be.

So in the end Desmond resorts to a little sleight of hand, distracting a lazy city guard with a hologram of a bird flying at him and using the man's surprised sputtering to take the leather gloves from the man's belt, and then blending back into the crowd before the man notices. The gloves are a little tight, but they hide the gleam of his fingers and that's enough for now.

He still gets comments for his face.

"Messere, your face!" a young man, an artist judging by the paint on his fingers. "Oh, you must tell me the paint used to achieve such lustre!"

"Oh, it is beautiful," a young girl, peering up at him. "Mama, mama, I want gold on my face too!"

"You are a brother, a monk, yes?" a man in a monk's cowl says, looking over his robes, obviously disproving. "What sect do you hail from and what is that nonsense on your cheeks?"

Desmond is so used to people not really even _noticing_ the infection, that he has no idea what to say. In the golden city most everyone has at least a little, and sure, it's a source of pride for some, but no one really makes a big deal out of it. It's just a… part of life. This is – he has no idea how to react. How do you explain away having perfect lines of shimmering metal on your face?

First few times he tries to excuse himself without explaining anything, then, when insisted upon, he said, "It's just paint, it has pyrite in it – looks very convincing, doesn't it?" And then when his _vanity in face of god_ is questioned, as he wears what amounts to monk's robes, and _how dares he_ , he tries to explain that, "No, I am from far away, very far away, my religion unknown to you – I don't belong to your Christian Church –" which does not prompt the understanding he hoped for _at all_.

Though not as zealous as some places probably are, Florence is still very firmly a catholic city – and just the implication that someone might not believe in their God makes priests and monks puff up like angry birds. Desmond gets called a blasphemer and is given an actual sermon before he gets out of that one. It's almost amusing, except for the way city guards eye him, narrow-eyed and suspicious.

It's all… a little much. Much more than he was expecting. Maybe he really should try and find himself a veil to wear. Or maybe he could go for a complete colour overhaul, change his robes to black ones and then get a plague doctor's mask. Might… actually not be a bad idea.

Desmond considers one of the many doctors stationed around the city, selling their apothecary supplies, and wonders where they get their masks anyway. Is there a tailor who makes masks for doctors? Do you need a licence for one, or can just anyone pull on a mask and sell medicine?

While trying to his best ability to avoid making any sort of incident, Desmond does figure out few things.

The year is 1487, going by a leaflet plastered onto the side of a shop building, with some recent decree by the Signoria – which would be useful thing to know, except that Desmond has no memory is what happened in the year. It was over ten years since the fall of Auditore, he knows that much, which explains some of the changes and why he can't feel Ezio in the city – but was it before Ezio got the Apple, or after? It's been so long, and Desmond can't for the life of him recall in which year it happened.

There's another family living in the Auditore Palazzo, and by the looks of them have for years now. Considering the banners around the Palazzo, they're related to the Medici. The Medici are still in power. There aren't any wanted posters of Ezio around, though, which is probably a good thing? He has no idea.

Leonardo is gone too, which makes sense. In his bottega there is another artist who's made the place his home now. It is one of man's apprentices that tries to get Desmond to reveal the secrets of his supposed face paint, though Desmond can't exactly give the man anything. Leonardo himself hasn't been seen in Florence in years, though. Pity.

Florence itself is far larger than he remembered it to be – larger than the Golden City even, stretching on and on. It's also more full of people than he remembered, and not all of them are rich nobility or bankers – there is a great deal of poverty in Florence that Desmond had somehow not realised must've existed. In the back streets there are people sleeping in the gutters, children begging by street corners, women beckoning men into dark alleyways…

There, at least, things are very different – Golden City had no poverty. Golden City had no money, after all – and when people were homeless, homes where simply made. Which, Desmond muses, is probably not something to be proud of, and not something to brag. It seems a little bit vile, just thinking about it, now, seeing this – a city built by hand and by hard labour, rather than by prayer of people sitting around. People who, Desmond now wonders, probably didn't even know _how_ to make things by hand – in Turin even the smallest things were often simply thought up.

Desmond is… not entirely sure what to do now.

As much as he understands _why_ he is here – because at the greedy, ridiculous, selfish core of him, his heart has always longed for the Renaissance and never could shake his mental image of a proper Promised Land, where gods became real people and he supposedly became the Chosen One and his Prophet still lived… what can he do from here? The Solar Flare, the end of the world, the birth of the Faith made by him, that's all five hundred years in the future. He is half a millennia too early – and even if he had Faith to carry him for another five hundred years of existence, that is not something he particularly wants. Three hundred years is already too much – five more centuries would be more than he could handle.

What can he do here? Write a warning in stone and hope someone finds it? Make his way over the Atlantic and back to the Grand Temple and then… utterly fail to open it, without the Key, the Apple and all the machinations of the Isu in place. They're still being _made_ in this time, after all. He's too early even for that, isn't he?

So he wanders around Florence, directionless and a bit awkward with the new flavour of attention he gets… but also kind of hopelessly _happy_. Florence is so beautiful and flawed and _real_. He still loves this time period, seeing it so broken and human and imperfect reminds him how much, and to be here, in body as well as the mind… it's beyond anything.

And Desmond has no idea what to do with it.

He should do something, make a decision, but – he can't stop just looking around. And there is something in the area that draws him, that makes him unwilling to stop. Like a lingering scent he's sort of following – something there is tantalising his senses, tasting familiar on his tongue.

It draws him, inexorably, to the poorer districts of the city.

Standing out in his white robes and golden _face paint_ as he does _,_ Desmond gets approached by the beggars and women of Florence readily. The children reach for his robes, begging for, "Just a coin, signore, I don't ask for much," while the women purr, "So clean, so pristine, Messere, come do delightful filthy things with me."

"I don't have anything to give you," Desmond says, over and over, feeling worse with each refusal and the looks of disappointment he gets – until a boy sneaks his fingers into a pocket of Desmond's robes, and takes more active role in charity of others.

The kid comes away with a flat piece of smooth metal with circuitry run through it and pretty, twisted bit of glass with streaks of colour curling inside it. Practice pieces by acolytes, it looks like – Desmond usually ended up with pockets full of pretty little trinkets like that, offered to him by eager students looking for approval for their work.

The boy who took them looks uncertain and baffled, unsure if he stole something valuable or not. Desmond looks down at him with interest and hums while the boy looks up to him and grows very still, realising he'd gotten caught.

The child glows a little golden to his senses.

"I'm sorry, kid, I don't think you'll make a good haul on me. Don't got much on me," Desmond admits and rests a hand on the boy's head while other kids around them just _skedaddle_ – obviously they'd been intending to do a bit of pickpocketing as well, and did not intend to get caught. The one who succeeded stands frozen under Desmond's hand, watching him nervously, obviously expecting punishment. Taking a strand of the child's dark hair between his fingers, Desmond concentrates – but, right, he's wearing gloves now.

"Want to see a secret?" he asks the boy and crouches down in front of him. The boy, giving him a deeply suspicious look, watches closely how Desmond takes his glove off and then his eyes widen a little as Desmond reveals his golden fingers.

"Is it _real_ gold?" the boy asks dubiously.

"No – but it looks pretty, doesn't it?" Desmond asks and with golden fingers ruffles the confused boy's hair until a single strand of hair comes loose. "You can keep those," Desmond nods at the trinkers, taking the hair. "If you'd like… but I'm afraid they're probably not worth much."

While the child looks awkwardly at the things he'd taken, Desmond rubs the single hair between his gleaming fingers until its ground to dust and he gets a read of the child's DNA.

"Hm," Desmond hums and looks at the child with greater interest. The kid is looking between his face and his hands, seeming begrudgingly curious now, though still obviously ready to bolt. Dark hair, dark eyes – yes, he can see the similarity. The kid is maybe six years old – a little young, but… the timing is about right. "What's your name, little one?"

The look the child gives him is full of distrust. "What is yours?" is the reply, delivered with all the boldness of the young.

"Desmond."

"Oh. Um. I am Giovanni." The way the kid says the name is full of defiance, as if expecting Desmond to argue against it. It makes sense though – and it's truthful enough to not come across as a full lie. Likely a derivation of the kid's actual name.

Desmond smiles a little, wondering. Are they using the disguise to hide out of some necessity, or is it a preference? Seems a bit… dangerous for the time. Well, either way… "It's very good to meet you Giovanni," Desmond says gently. "Where is your mother?"

Giovanni's familiar brown eyes widen just a little, and then they press their lips tight together and look down, obviously biting back some emotion. "Mama's gone to Heaven," they say and then glare at him. "And don't tell me she didn't, because she was a good mama, no matter what they say – she _went to Heaven_."

"I'm… sure she did, then. Good mothers always go to Heaven," Desmond assures them. Prostitute then, probably – or ill reputable otherwise. "Where do you live then, Giovanni? You're a little young to be out here stealing."

Giovanni's lips quiver, and sadly Desmond wonders how often people are rude to them, instead of being nice. They look down at the trinkets they took from Desmond's pockets and then hand them back. "I'm sorry," Giovanni says. "It's just that – I'm _hungry_."

Desmond makes a sympathetic noise and accepts the training pieces back, considering them. These two pieces, while tricky pieces of transmutation, aren't probably anything anyone would buy, not as they are. Thoughtful, Desmond goes through his other pockets, finding other similar trinkets of stone, metal, glass and so forth, few of them really rather pretty, but that only makes him more unwilling to part with them. Even if he can't even remember the acolytes who made them and knowing that to the acolytes it was probably only a moment's thought to gift them to him and they likely forgot soon after… they're still gifts someone gave him.

Even if he could sell them for coin, he doesn't quite want to.

What a thing to worry about, suddenly – being able to buy things. He doesn't even remember when money was last an issue to him.

"How about you show me where you live and I'll see about someone giving you food? You… do live with someone, right?" Desmond asks carefully, brushing the kid's dark hair from their eyes.

Giovanni stares at the ground, their whole little body a display of unhappiness. "I sleep with other boys in the abandoned houses and such," they say, sullen. "I don't live anywhere. Mama didn't want me go to the Madame's house, and when the landlord told me to get gone, to go to the Madame's house – I didn't."

"Well," Desmond says _. Well, shit_ , he wants to say, but doesn't. Homeless then. Six year old and homeless in a place where people probably don't care about bastards running around in the back streets, even if they knew who they were related to. And stealing too, out of desperation – that would get the kid killed.

"Alright, Giovanni," Desmond says and puts his trinkets away and the glove he took back on. "Let's go see what we can do for food."

Giovanni looks up at him with widening eyes, and Desmond turns to go – only belatedly realising he's expecting the same sort of obedience out of this kid as the one he gets from his acolytes. The kid doesn't bolt though, they only hesitates a bit, and then, taking a hopeful leap of faith, dashes after him, looking up to him nervously – and with hope.

* * *

 

Desmond can't really remember when he last did Assassin-like things. A hundred and twenty years ago there had been a small war with the guilds of Rochester, during which time he had gone out of his way to steal something – namely some texts that had been stolen from then much smaller than Golden City – but that was about it. The city had became closed off, as they were entirely self-sufficient and there wasn't really much they needed to trade that they couldn't figure out how to make themselves, so… there wasn't really any need for any sort of interaction with people that might lead to Assassins being called for. Golden City didn't even need military – there was little anyone could do that a little prayer wouldn't fix.

So he's… a little rusty when it comes to accumulating funds. Desmond can remember how easy it was for Ezio, just walk into a crowd and pickpocket every person you came across, or scale walls and loot hidden stashes on people's balconies, but…

Desmond has been leading a prosperous and mostly peaceful city for several hundred years now, and not only does he have no idea where to even begin with _stealing_ – but it just seems a little wrong.

But Giovanni is hungry, and, Desmond soon realises, so it's he.

He could use the abilities his infection gave him, a little bit of hologram and sleight of hand would do the trick, but… using it once was risky enough in hindsight, and this is a really bad place to become known for being able to do unusual things. Even if he got the luck of the draw and people decided he was capable of doing miracles rather than witchcraft, it would still not be very good for him in the long run.

So… raiding hidden stashes it was.

Except that he hasn't scaled a building in – better not even think how long.

"What are we doing?" Giovanni asks, while Desmond eyes a block of buildings, all of them in pretty bad repair. It looks like someone had started repairing parts of the block, there's even scaffolding there – but then they'd just stopped, maybe couple of years back. The place looks completely abandoned and unsafe – except…

Desmond can feel the _gold_ inside – on the third floor, someone had hidden something golden.

"Gathering funds," Desmond answers, eying the wall. He is healthier than he was, the Prayer had restored him to a pretty decent shape, but he's still on the greying side of _old_ , so… "Giovanni, promise me something," he says seriously.

"Um, alright," Giovanni offers, frowning.

"Don't try doing this yourself until you're at least thirteen years old."

The kid blinks at him. "I can't count?"

Desmond sighs. "I'll teach you – just don't try to do what I'm going to do, alright? Stay here."

The kid gives him mostly just puzzled look – then they let out an incredulous sound as Desmond takes the wall at a slight jog, putting his foot on it to push upwards, just like he used to several lifetimes ago before everything became gold and prayer and –

Oh, it's – actually working.

Desmond grabs a hold of a broken window sill, and the strain of pulling himself up isn't that bad. He's definitely not as good at it as he used to be, it's nowhere near as easy as it was when he was still in his twenties and the world had just burned to ash. But he's doing it. His feet find the little footholds on the wall, his arms shake a little, but they pull him up to another level – with surprising strength, his body hauls him up, bit by bit.

Judging by the noise little Giovanni makes, he looks either really impressive or completely ridiculous. Desmond suspects the latter.

Up on the highest broken room, under some strategically placed scraps of wood and smashed masonry, there is a chest, weather-worn but watertight. There are some letters there, and a few interesting pieces of materials. Silks, ivory, some little bags of spices…

A smuggler's stash of samples, maybe?

Well, whichever it is, there's money there – not much of it, but enough to start with, definitely. Desmond leaves the samples where he found them, can't do much with bits of silk and ivory, but he does take all of the coins and then goes to return to the ground level.

Giovanni is still there, watching him descend with wide eyes. "How did you do that?" the kid asks. "Who _are you_ , messere?"

"I'm not anybody, not anymore," Desmond says and smiles to the kid, hoisting the little bag up and then catching it, enjoying the way the jingle of coins makes the kid's eyes brighten. "Let's go find lunch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	3. Chapter 3

After getting something to eat, Desmond wanders around the city of Florence a little more. Partially it's because he still can't stop looking and enjoying the city in general – the longer he looks, the less it looks like the Golden City and more he loves it for that – but also because of Giovanni. Because if there's one, there might be others.

"Where are we going?" Giovanni asks, easily keeping up with Desmond's slow, meditative pace as he scents around the city for other threads.

"We're not going anywhere – we're taking in the sights," Desmond says calmly.

Giovanni looks around, frowning. "It's just a street."

"It's a street built by people to be nice to look at," Desmond says. "Like those murals over there – aren't they pretty? And the way the vines grow all over the trellis over there. It's nice – I like how they look"

The kid obviously doesn't see the aesthetic value, but they're still following Desmond around regardless, giving the trellises suspicious looks and squinting at the murals. "I guess," Giovanni says. "I don't get it – there's much prettier things around the rich streets."

"Yeah," Desmond agrees. But he's seen versions of the richer streets and districts of Florence for every day for the last two hundred and more years – the slummier sections are new. "I still like it."

They've wandered around the poorer streets and scruffier back alleys and so far, Giovanni is the only one who has set off his senses. It's a bit of a surprise really – considering Ezio's history in Florence, you'd think there'd be others, but… he can't find any more. There are other people who have Isu genes in them – now that Desmond is concentrating he can sense them – but nothing like Giovanni.

Somehow, despite all his promiscuity, it seems like Ezio had managed to father only one child in Florence. Desmond isn't sure whether to be impressed or disappointed by him.

Desmond looks at the kid, in their scruffy clothing. Ragged shirt, dirty hose with hole at the knee, doublet too big with many holes. Giovanni has a little belt around their waist and a couple of small satchels hang from it, made from worn cloth and leather – all of them are stuffed full of food now, as the kid had only eaten a little of what Desmond had bought and stored the rest. Smart – and sad.

"Can you tell me about your mother, Giovanni?" Desmond asks, moving to take a seat on an empty bench by the nearby wall – it's just under the trellis above, shielded from the late noon son.

"Um…" Giovanni hesitates and then comes to sit beside him, kicking their feet up. Their shoes are mismatched, one bigger than the other – both broken. "She was pretty. She wore pink dress and worked all the time and made up stories about men on the rooftops."

"Men on the rooftops?" Desmond asks curiously.

"Yes," Giovanni says and frowns at their knees and not saying anything for a moment. "She died last winter. She started coughing, and then one morning she didn't wake up."

"I'm sorry, kid," Desmond says quietly. "That must've been rough."

Giovanni's lips quiver and they wipe a hand under their nose, looking away determinedly. "It's fine," they say, though it obviously isn't.

Desmond considers them thoughtfully and then, though he really doesn't want to cause any hurt, he has to ask, "Do you know who your father is?

Giovanni presses their lips together tightly and doesn't answer.

"Ah," Desmond answers and leans back against the wall, folding his arms. He'd figured as much, anyway. Who knows if the mother even knew – if she was what Desmond guesses she was, there were probably several possible candidates, and maybe it didn't really even matter to her. And if she knew, then… then what? Ezio, the disgraced noble, Assassin and wanted murderer… not a guy you'd look at and think, _yeah, that guy is going to be a great father_.

The sad thing is, Ezio probably was. And who knows what it would've done for the Auditore family – to poor Maria Auditore – to know that there was a new generation, even an illegitimate one…

Stroking his gloved fingers through his beard, Desmond looks at the street, the people walking them by, hanging around and talking. As much as he loves Florence, there isn't much he can do here, is there? Florence, for all its importance now, wasn't important in the future – not to the Prophecy, anyway. He had never been to the actual Florence. Though he could probably leave a message here for the future to find… it probably wouldn't.

But if he got to Monteriggioni, to the Auditore Villa – to the _sanctuary…_

Looking at his hand, Desmond rubs his gloved fingers together. Even if in his younger years he didn't have the infection, he still had an… _affinity_. He could leave an imprint at the Sanctuary with enough information to warn his younger self, to tell him of the future, of the Faith, and he's fairly certain his younger self could receive it.

Back then, he could never see a shiny thing and not touch it, after all. Bit of a magpie, really. Something most every Assassin – and later, Adept – shared.

Giovanni is looking up at him warily, and Desmond looks down at them. "What is it?"

"Why do you have gold on your face?"

"Hmm. That's a… long story," Desmond says and folds his arms, considering the kid. "Short of it is that I touched something I probably shouldn't have, and it eventually affected me."

Giovanni frowns at that. "What, like… touching fresh paint?"

Desmond smiles a little at that. "Something like that, I suppose," he agrees. "Do you know how sometimes, when you touch wool or someone's hair or… something, it gives this little zap, like," he snaps his fingers. "A little crack."

"Um, yeah, I guess?"

"It was a little like that, only the zap in my case was a lot bigger. And lasted a lot longer," Desmond muses. Lasted for centuries, really. He shakes his head at the confused look the kid gives him. "Don't worry about it."

"Is it… catching?" Giovanni asks worriedly.

"Not if I'm very careful," Desmond sighs and smiles a little wider. "I promise, you have nothing to be worried about."

"Okay," Giovanni says and looks down. "Are you going to die? I mean, if you're sick…"

"I'm not sick. Yes, I'm going to die one day, but hopefully not just yet," Desmond says with a chuckle. "Turns out I maybe have some things to do still."

"Like what?"

Desmond eyes the kid, all of six years old, conceived probably just before Ezio left for Venice… "How would you like to meet your father's family, Giovanni?"

Giovanni's eyes widen. "I don't know my father."

Desmond smiles and ruffles their hair. "I do," he says. "And I think they would like to meet you."

* * *

 

It's kind of horrible, in hindsight – how easy it is to convince the kid to come with him. If he was lying, if it was a trick, if his intentions weren't anything but sincere, it would be fucking _terrible_ really. It takes so little to convince Giovanni that yes, he knows their father, yes, he knows where they live – mostly, anyway – and yes, he could take them there. Sure the kid is suspicious at first, obviously they've lived on the streets long enough to be a little street-smart, but still…

Desmond kind of despairs what might've happened to the kid, if… if. It really doesn't even bear thinking, it's too horrible.

While Giovanni dashes off to get their things, what little they own, Desmond scales a few more buildings and makes his way to a few sewers too, collecting a bit of coin here and there. He's probably not the best gauge for how much he actually manages to gather – he has a vague memory of Shaun complaining how the monetary system was _ridiculously_ simplified in the Animus and it wasn't that straightforward. He does find more coins than just florins, anyway, which makes him worry a little. But some money, even mystery money, is better than none. Probably.

Desmond takes a last look at Florence on the rooftop of a watch tower, looking towards Santa Maria del Fiore with a look of mixed nostalgia. "May you ever be the only one," he murmurs to the distant cathedral. Though he'd loved and put some of his soul into the Great Temple of the Golden City of Turin… hopefully it will never come to be now.

He takes the long way down from the tower – though climbing is turning out to be not as big of a problem as he feared, he doesn't feel quite confident about his spine being able to take a Leap of Faith yet.

Giovanni, when they come back to him, is carrying ragged blanket formed into a makeshift satchel, and they're wearing a cape way too big for them.

"Nice cape," Desmond says, smiling. "Do you want me to take that?" he motions to the satchel.

"No, it's mine," Giovanni says, scowling.

"Alright then. Come on," Desmond says and motions them to follow. "Let's get out of here."

Leaving Florence is easier than he expected it to be. He gets some looks, and the guards stop him to check him over – but Desmond has no belongings to be taxed or tolled, and Giovanni is obviously a beggar and all they have in their satchel is clothes, old toys – and couple of dresses, which Desmond isn't surprised by.

"What's that on your face?" one of the guardsmen demands.

"Paint, sir," Desmond says. "Accident at an artist's studio. I wasn't aware it was against the law to be a little dirty."

"Tch," the guardsman says. "Go on, old man, and make sure you take the rat with you."

 _Rude_. "Thank you," Desmond says and lays a gloved hand on Giovanni's shoulder, ushering them through the gates – and out of Florence.

"I've never been outside before," Giovanni admits, as they shuffle past the people coming in with their carts and carriages. "They say there are robbers and thieves."

"Those are nothing to be worried about, I promise. The countryside isn't that wild – and it's actually a lot more peaceful and nice to look at too, than city streets," Desmond says and considers them. "Just tell me when you'd like me to carry that bag for you – it looks heavy."

Giovanni makes a face and then, begrudging, offers the makeshift bag to him. "But it's still _mine,_ " they say. "You can't keep it."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

The first hour or so of the travel goes well. Giovanni asks questions about the things they pass by, street signs and farmhouses and guard stations, marks on the road, sounds in the woods. They're a city kid through and through, and just the sound of birds unlike those you might hear in the city spook them a little – and oh boy, when they see a deer skittering over the street and disappearing into a copse of trees…

"Don't worry, it's more scared of us than we're of it," Desmond says, looking wistfully after the animal. They'd almost gone extinct in North America after the Solar Flare – and a hundred years after, they _were_ extinct, hunted out of existence by survivors, along with so many of the wild animals that survived. There were still some moose and such, hardier animals, up north where the local temperatures mitigated the effect of the flare, it was late December when it happened, after all… but still.

He doesn't even _remember_ the last time he saw a wild animal that wasn't skinned to be the lining on someone's coat.

"That wasn't a rabbit, was it?" Giovanni asks, wide eyed.

"No, it was a deer – a doe, to be exact. Female deer," Desmond says, stroking his chin. "Rabbits are much smaller."

"I want to see a rabbit," the kid says. "Everyone says they're pretty."

"Then let's hope we come across one."

The kid tires eventually. Honestly, it's surprising how long Giovanni manages to keep up with him, considering how young they are – probably side effect of having gotten to eat and also living on the streets, they're hardier than normal kids. But a six year old is still a six year old, and eventually their feet begin dragging on the road and they begin lagging behind.

"How much further is it?" Giovanni bemoans.

"Quite a deal more, I'm afraid," Desmond admits. "I doubt we'll make it there even today."

"Oh," Giovanni says and looks down. "Can we take a break?"

"Then it will take even longer to get there. How about instead I carry you?" Desmond offers. "Do you know what a piggyback ride is?"

Giovanni doesn't know the name, but they know it in execution – when Desmond crouches down to offer the kid his back, their eyes widen and they hesitate just for a moment before eagerly jumping onto Desmond's back, smushing their face against his hood. Desmond adjusts the makeshift bag where it's tied around him and hanging by his hip and then hoists the kid up, arms around their knees, and stands up.

"Mama used to carry me like this," Giovanni admits very softly.

"She sounds like a great mother," Desmond says gently. "You said she told you stories? Do you remember any of them?"

"Um. I remember one of them, because it was _horrible_ ," Giovanni says. "About the cunning shoemaker."

"Alright, tell me about the cunning shoemaker."

Giovanni starts telling the tale – and only gets about halfway through the story about the cunning shoemaker before falling asleep against Desmond's back, their breath snuffling quietly against the back of his hood.

Desmond glances over his shoulder at the kid and then, humming contently, continues down the road, thinking of fairytales he could tell in turn. Because the kid was right. The story of the shoemaker was really really horrible.

* * *

 

They weather the night in what looks like the often used campsite along the road – a clearing has formed there, around a  fire pit, with obvious spots for carts and carriages. Desmond makes a fire there and then pokes around the surrounding forest for stuff to eat – which is a very nostalgic process, in the end.

It's coming back to him easier now – the skills of his ancestors. They'd gotten encoded into him with the power of the Apple and the Animus – and there'd been time, after the Flare, when he'd rely on them to support himself and his family of Assassins. It's been a very long time since then, though – and the first few things Desmond tries to hunt don't sit still long enough for him to manage it.

But memories of Rantonhnhaké:ton are coming back to him now, and eventfully he manages an air assassination on an animal. It's not a clean kill, and the pelt is pretty much ruined, but… it's the meat he wants.

 Giovanni is _not_ happy to see that the rabbit they were hoping to meet was going to be their dinner.

"Sorry, kid," Desmond says. "But we gotta eat. And I couldn't catch it live, don't really have the means." And that would probably be even _worse_ , seeing a live animal and then watching it become dinner.

"I know we gotta eat, I want to eat," they say, sullen. "I just hoped."

"Sorry," Desmond says again, glad that at least he went through the trouble of butchering and skinning the thing out of sight. He sets it cooking by the fire and then sits beside Giovanni. "How do you like traveling so far?"

"It takes too long," Giovanni says. "And it's tiring."

"Not much I can do about that, sorry. It would be faster with a horse or cart, but… don't have the means and I don't want to become a horse thief," Desmond muses, considering the sleeves of his robes, the hem. They've gotten a little dirty. Oh well. "We should make it to Monteriggioni by tomorrow, hopefully."

"Alright."

Desmond gives the kid a look, considering them. Giovanni is sitting with their legs propped up, hugging their knees to their chest. "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine," the kid says and then looks down, hesitating. Then, after a moment, they mutter. "I lied."

"What was that?"

"I lied. Before. Back in the city, I lied. My name isn't really Giovanni. It's Giovanna."

Desmond hums, using a stick to bank the fire a little. "Alright."

"Are you mad?"

"No, I'm not."

"But," Giovanni frowns. "I'm a girl. And I lied."

Desmond shrugs. "I figure there was probably a reason," he says and looks at them. "Do you prefer Giovanni or Giovanna?"

They look at him, a little suspicious and confused, and then look at the fire. "Giovanna," the kid then says. "But mama said – it's dangerous. That it was better that people thought I was Giovanni as long as possible, because otherwise, otherwise Madame might come for me and put me to work. Mama didn't want me to work for Madame, so – I pretended to be Giovanni."

"Alright," Desmond says calmly. "Your mother was a good woman. You don't have to worry about that now, you're never going to have to work for Madame, or for any like her. Okay?"

The kid drags a wet sniffling breath and nods shakily. "Okay."

"Good. If you want to change your clothes, that's okay – you don't have to pretend to be a boy if you don't want to."

Giovanna considers that with a very thoughtful look of a child pondering important things. "I don't want them to get dirty," she decides. "And also the dresses don't fit me anymore. Mama's dress does, but it's too big."

Desmond gives her a sympathetic look and then ruffles a hand through her short hair. "Well, maybe one day you'll get new dresses, that do fit," he says. "Thank you for telling me the truth, Giovanna."

Giovanna nods and hugs her legs tighter. Very careful, she looks up at him. "Were you someone's papa once?"

Desmond hums, looking at the fire. "No, not really," he admits. "I had a son, once – Elijah. It was long ago, and I never knew him. He died in the – in a big disaster. I only learned about him later, much later, when he'd already been gone for years."

"Oh," Giovanna says. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Desmond says and smiles, stroking her hair. "It was long, long time ago."

* * *

 

They finally arrive at Monteriggioni late in the evening on the next day. It's a bit of a surprise to find the town's gates still open – but considering how many guards the place has by now, it's probably not that strange. The town is, it seems, full of mercenaries.

It's also full of light and warmth and people. It looks like Ezio and the Auditore are well on the way of restoring the fortress to its old glory – all the shops are again open, there's vendors on the main street still selling food, and the people around the fortress seem happy and comfortable, talking and enjoying the warm evening in the light of the town's lanterns.

Desmond… isn't quite sure how to proceed.

As Ezio he could've just ran through the town, up the stairs and right into the Auditore villa – but Desmond is no one, and the Auditore are the ruling caste of Monteriggioni. As small as the place is, they are still nobility here, respected and well guarded, probably – certainly the guards and mercenaries around the city are giving Desmond and Giovanna some suspicious looks.

Could he just walk up to the villa, present Giovanna as the bastard daughter of Ezio and be done with it? Probably not. As little as Desmond remembers of Claudia, he can still imagine her with a dagger in hand, chasing people away. Going up there and just… claiming things with no proof would probably be bad.

"Hmm, I think I did not fully think this through," Desmond admits, stroking his beard, while Giovanna looks around, wide-eyed, clutching at his robe.

"Desmond," she says quietly. "Are those Madame's people?"

Desmond looks, and sees a couple of courtesans, hanging by a tailor's shop, talking to the man behind the store's counter. "They are courtesans, Giovanna," he says quietly, crouching down to talk to her. "They probably work for _a_ Madame, but not the same one your mother worked for. Don't be scared, they're probably not bad people, and they won't do anything to you, I promise."

Giovanna shuffles a little closer to him nervously and then takes his hand. "Okay."

Desmond nods and stands up, holding his hand in his. "Let's have a look around, alright? And maybe see if that gentleman over there might sell us a little something to eat." It would give him time to think over his approach, of how to present Giovanna to whoever Auditore is present at the Villa. Claudia and Maria would be there, at least.

It's… beyond anything, being back here. The buildings, the shops, the people, and the Villa standing above them all, it's so nostalgic that it steals Desmond's breath. He'd not recreated Monteriggioni with Faith – and it was for a reason. Even after all these years, being here still makes him feel a little choked up. The place Ezio felt most at home. Where _he_ felt most at home. The destruction of which made them both hurt in their own ways.

It's a bittersweet joy to see it at its prime again.

He gets looks here too, people watch him and murmur – but this is the home of Assassins, so people very carefully _don't ask questions_. The food vendor sells them bread and cheese, the tailor shouts about having clothing fit for children, but no one remarks about Desmond's face – not _to_ his face anyway.

"Desmond," Giovanna says. "You said papa's family is here – where are they?"

Desmond looks up to the Villa. He's seen a few of the locals watch him and then head up there – probably to inform the Auditore of their newest strange arrival. It's a small community after all, any news is big news. So maybe the Auditore already know that a strange old man with a child had arrived. Maybe…

Desmond takes a breath. Nothing to it. "Let's go and see if we can meet them, then," he says to Giovanna. "Are you ready?"

She clutches his hand tightly and nods. "Yes. I'm ready."

Together, they turn towards the Auditore Villa and begin making their way up.


	4. Chapter 4

They are in something of a luck. Claudia and Maria Auditore aren't hard to get to at all – and though there are soldiers and mercenaries and servants around, obviously keeping watch on the women, no one goes out of their way to stop Desmond and Giovanna on their way up to the level where the Auditore Villa stands, above rest of the town. In there, the Auditore women seem to be taking the air, Claudia with her arm wound around Maria's as she tries to engage her mother in a discussion.

Desmond has to stop at the look of them. It hurts a little, in way he didn't expect, to see them. In Florence seeing the people hadn't been so bad, he hadn't _known_ any of them… but these are Ezio's family. And they don't look anything like how Ezio, perhaps somewhat pigheadedly, remembered them. Ezio, Desmond muses, refused to give up the impression of _how things used to be_ , and so neither Claudia nor Maria seemed to age in his eyes.

But they have.

Claudia isn't a seventeen year old girl – she's a woman at her prime and she looks stressed as she walks with a look of utterly fake cheer on her face. Maria has gone completely grey and she looks feather-light as she moves as urged by her daughter, vacantly looking at nothing, her eyes listing, aimless.

It looks like they're walking in circles around the villa – Claudia trying to get Maria to do some exercise maybe? Claudia is the first to spot them, as she looks for something to try and draw Maria's eye and notices the strangers in their front yard.

Desmond… has a bad feeling about this.

"Come on," he says to Giovanna. "Let's go talk to them."

Giovanna looks first confused and then shocked when she realizes who Desmond means, her eyes widening. " _Them_? But they are…?!"

"It will be alright," Desmond says gently and then, when Giovanna drags her feet in confusion and hesitation, he crouches down and picks her up, hoisting her to his side. Giovanna flails for a moment and then grabs a hold of his robe, looking nervous still. "It's okay," Desmond says again and then turns to the Auditore women.

Even at a distance, Claudia looks suspicious.

"Hello," Desmond greets them, as he comes close enough to talk – and now they're the subject of very suspicious glances of everyone in the yard, mercenaries and servants alike. "I'm sorry to come up on you like this, but – "

Claudia's eyes narrow and her arm tightens on Maria's. She looks between his face and between Giovanna. Desmond's bad feeling grows worse.

"Um," he says, hesitant.

"You could do us the courtesy of at least _introducing_ yourself," Claudia says and her voice and her expression both are very pleasant – her eyes are not. If looks could kill, she'd be the best Assassin out there. "I assume you know who we are, after all – it is only polite to offer us the same."

"Ah, yes – of course. Sorry," Desmond says, awkward, and bows his head a little. "I am Desmond. And this is Giovanna," he adds, hoisting nervous Giovanna little higher on his arm.

Mistake. He would've known it was a mistake even without his senses screaming at him that with that little word, he's made enemy out of Claudia – her eyes harden to absolute steel and the smile freezes into a mask.

"Silvana, dear?" she calls to a maid, who had been trailing after the ladies in case they needed something. "Take my mother back inside, if you will? I think she's growing tired – make her some tea, if you please."

"Yes, at once, Mistress," Silvana the maid says and ushers forward. Maria looks confused, eying Desmond and Giovanna with a look like she almost recognizes them, if only as _people,_ but can't quite place them. Then the maid eases her hand around her arm and murmurs, "Right this way, Madam, there you go…"

The silence left in wake of her gentle removal is marked and tense.

"How _dare_ you?" Claudia then whispers, smiling frozenly. "Coming up to my _mother_ like this? I could forgive it if you were truly unfamiliar with the situation, but you obviously know of us, and my mother's condition didn't surprise you – and you come upon us like this? With _this_?" she glances at Giovanna and her eyes blaze.

Desmond wonders, suddenly, about all the things Ezio had not seen, or turned wilfully blind eye to. "I am sorry, I meant to insult," he says, a little helpless. "I only wanted to introduce you to Giovanna –"

Claudia lets out a snort. "So, what are you?" She asks, resting her hands on her hips and motioning him, from his gold adorned face to his white get up. "A street performer, an actor – let me guess, you do sleight of hand?" she eyes his sleeves, which are a little wide. "Can't make money tricking people with disappearing scarves anymore, so you turn to  trick them with children that appear mysteriously from nowhere?"

"I –" Desmond starts to say and then looks at Giovanna, whose face is frozen in horror and fear. "I – no, of course not. Giovanna is Ezio's – "

"How dare you?" Claudia demands. "How… _dare_ you?"

"I am telling the truth," Desmond says quickly, frowning a little.

"If this child was in any way related to my brother, it would _be my brother_ presenting her to us," Claudia says furiously. "Not some random riffraff of the street! My brother does not simply miss these things – he would know. Which makes you, sir, not only a liar, but a most unscrupulous one, trying to take advantage of a still grieving and poorly mother, and sister. You should be _ashamed_."

"I'm sorry –"

"I would have happily found you work and place to stay if you wished to move into Monteriggioni, we take new citizens all the time, but this – this is _too much._ Guards!" Claudia snaps, glaring at him. "Please get these people _out_ of my fortress."

* * *

 

It takes almost an hour to stop Giovanna from crying. The mercenaries of Monteriggioni escort them away from the fortress and then stand in a line on the road as if Desmond is about to round back and try again – as if unarmed man is a danger to a fully armed citadel. Desmond doesn't care though, because the whole ordeal, as horribly as it had gone, has nothing on the effect it has on Giovanna.

"You lied, you lied, you _lied_ ," she wails, beating Desmond's chest with her fists and crying harder. "You said I'd have family, that I'd have a papa – you _lied_!"

"Sweetheart, I am sorry - I promise you I didn't lie," Desmond whispers, again and again – but how do you prove something in time before these things could really be checked? Though Giovanna has Ezio's hair and eyes and obvious propensity for pickpocketing – if not the skill yet – she doesn't look that much like him. She looks a little like Maria, really, but not enough for it to be marked. She has Maria's nose.

Problem is, Desmond has that exact same nose – which means Giovanna also looks a lot like him, which he realizes only in hindsight.

"I swear, Giovanna, I didn't lie," Desmond says, taking her by the shoulders and looking at her serious. "I was just stupid, thinking they'd believe me at face value. I mean, if some strange man came and – actually never mind," he sighs and shaking his hand wipes her face gently. "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't think. I didn't think it would turn out like this."

Honestly he probably should have. How many nobles got random people claiming that they were or had their bastards, and thus should be given money?

Desmond had seen something like it personally too, over the years. How those with money were constant targets for scammers and con-artists, and how widows and orphan daughters with any wealth could become prey. It wasn't a problem in the Golden City anymore towards the end of his… tenure. But there had been monetary system there once, and they did do trade, once.

Monteriggioni is becoming prosperous now under the management of the younger generation of Auditore, and while Ezio brings in the money, it's Claudia who might arguably be called its Mistress. And though the place is small, the fortress sits between two prosperous states of Florence and Tuscany, and the Auditore made it neutral. How many people from both sides would want to claim it? How many would try to trick the _poor women_ of the Auditore family to do it?

"That lady said you lied," Giovanna accuses him.

"She was protecting her mother from what she thought was an evil pair of tricksters," Desmond says, brushing his thumbs under his eyes. "Because she's a little ill and weak and probably can't take shock. Don't hold it against it that she's wrong."

"But – "

"Are we an evil pair of tricksters, Giovanna?" Desmond asks gently.

She makes a face at him. "Sometimes?" she asks. "I mean… I stole from you. I've stolen from other people."

Desmond smiles. "Did you do it because you wanted to be mean?"

"No, I was hungry."

"Being desperate doesn't mean being evil," Desmond says and strokes her hair. "You're alright. And I might look like a random street performer but I think I'm alright too. Okay?"

Giovanna sways, thinking and then makes a face. "What are we going to do now?"

Desmond hesitates and looks towards the fortress. No way to get in, now. He probably can't even get close enough to leave his message, the mercenaries would probably follow them and keep an eye on them until they were well out of sight, so no sneaking around the back and through the mines…

"I think," he says. "We need to head to Venice to catch your dad directly."

Giovanna blinks. "But – what if he throws us out too?"

"Trust me. _He won't_." Desmond stands up and then holds out a hand to her. "It's a bit longer until there," he says apologetically. "It's going to be many days, and it's not going to be easy. Venice is far away and hard to get to."

Giovanna hesitates, still sniffling, watching him uncertainly. But in the end, what else can she do? She's far away from home and the promised new home kicked her out. She doesn't really have a choice but to follow him, if she wants to keep on surviving.

Desmond feels _terrible_ about the whole thing, even as the little girl winds her hand in his and holds on.

"I think," he muses. "It's time I become a horse thief after all."

* * *

 

Giovanna is glum about Monteriggioni for about a day, but in the end she's still a six year old, and she bounces back fast. Desmond distracts her by telling her stories – mostly the plots of half-forgotten abbreviated children's movies from his youth, and some of the moral stories the Faithful ended up developing to teach their children morals. He veers away from the stories about Believing and being Faithful – but the moral of working together and stuff is pretty much the same here as it is anywhere… or any _when_.

Giovanna enjoys his retelling of Ghibli movies the most – which is kind of bad. Desmond can't even remember most of them – Disney movie plots are so much easier to recall.

Amids telling her stories, Desmond also starts to teach her how to count. One tree, two trees, four trees… one farm house with two sheds, two farm houses with four horses – how many do they have after Desmond steals one of them?

"I thought stealing was bad," Giovanna says.

"Stealing is very bad," Desmond sighs. What a role model he is. This was easier when he was standing on a pedestal too high for anyone to even see what he was actually doing. "Here's hoping you'll forget this ever happened and grow up to be a better person than me."

Giovanna narrows her eyes. "I'm going to remember this _always_ ," she says determinedly.

Well, at least she's getting her spirit back. She's also growing a lot more at ease in his company – so much so, that when they're walking to let the horse rest, she holds his hand, and at night time she climbs to his lap without hesitation, burrowing into his robes for warmth.

Desmond tries not to get too attached. There had been time when he'd done that, with the orphans they took in, with the students he taught, his acolytes. His earliest ones were… really close to him, close enough that he couldn't deny having raised at least some of them by himself. Which, really… made it so much worse when they died of old age, while he kept on floating on the currents of the Faith.

He learned to keep an emotional distance since them – to the point that towards the end he wasn't even keeping track of names of the people around him – and he tries to apply that to Giovanna, he really does…

But none of his students sucked their thumb like she does, nestled under the lapels of his robes, snuffling quietly in sleep. Desmond sighs, eases her thumb from her mouth gently, and then strokes her hair. Should not get attached – she's going to meet Ezio one day, Ezio is going to _love_ her and then…

Yeah. Better not.

* * *

 

The next day dawns rainy and weary, and they make their way through Tuscan countryside. Giovanna spends most of the time tucked under Desmond's robes, trying to stay warm and dry. Desmond keeps one arm around her, and though he can't keep her from getting a little wet in the rain, she should at least be warm. Hopefully they'd find a place to shelter in, preferably with a roof, for the night, so that he could get her dry again.

"Why can't you be my papa?" Giovanna asks against his chest.

Desmond sighs. He should've expected that. "I am not," he says quietly.

"You could be. You're nice. Sometimes," she says. "And what if the one in Venice doesn't want me, like those ladies didn't want me?"

Desmond is quiet for a moment. "Tell you what – if Ezio doesn't want you, I'll keep you," he says. He's pretty sure it would never happen, but still. "That sounds good do you?"

Giovanna makes a thoughtful face. "Yeah, okay," she decides and then burrows closer. "I'm cold."

"I know," Desmond sighs and then hesitates. He could… fix that. "Gimme a moment, honey," he says, and then tugs his glove off. Giovanna hums with interest and looks up at him, not moving, as Desmond lays his gleaming fingers on top of her head – or rather on top of the lapels of his own, wet robes. Then he concentrates.

His fingertips glow, and under them the wet fabric begins steaming as it grows warmer – heating up enough to evaporate the water soaked through it. It takes a moment for it to dry completely, the steaming effect spreading through the fabric until they're leaving a trail of stream – but eventually it peters out, as the full length of Desmond's robes dries.

Then, closing his eyes, Desmond brushes his fingers over the structure of the fabric, and changes it – not much, it still stays the same blend of silk and linen it was before, but the surface changes, forming into a tightly woven microscopic bristles – tight enough for water droplets to retain surface tension rather than soaking it through.

Just like that, his robes are hydrophobic.

"Better?" Desmond asks, shaking his slightly numbed fingers until the glow fades.

Giovanna is staring at his face, her eyes wide. "The gold on your face lit up. What _was_ that?

Desmond wiggles his golden fingers and then pulls his glove back on. "A secret. Don't tell anyone."

"But –"

Desmond tugs the lapel of his robes over her, smothering her under them. "Time for little girls to have a nap and not mention fancy glowing things," he says, a little playful, to distract her. "Nighty night, little Giovanna, time to sleep –"

"Desmoond!" she whines, wiggling in his lap bad enough to make the horse snort in confusion. "No, I don't want to nap! What did you _do_?"

Desmond grins, takes the reigns, and continues on, whistling loud enough to cover some of her grumbling and moaning.

* * *

 

It's raining again in a miserable thin mist when they reach Forlí, several days of travel later. Desmond, somewhat shamefacedly, goes to find someone to buy their illicitly acquired horse from him, much to Giovanni's obvious sadness.

"Bye-bye, Bella," she says to the horse sadly, as one of the Forlì's not so well-to-do farmers takes the horse for them at a price which Desmond is pretty sure is a pitiful one, but… he doesn't feel like arguing it. "Thank you for carrying us this long."

"Good boy you got there," the farmer says, eying Desmond's face dubiously. "Suppose you'll be heading to Venice? With that stuff on your face, you'd be an entertainer or some such."

"Some such, yes," Desmond agrees. "I don't suppose you know how expensive getting there is?"

"More expensive than buying a horse," the farmer says dubiously.

Which might mean more stealing. Well. Desmond's already a horse thief, what little bit more. "Thank you," he says and then gathers Giovanna before she permanently attaches herself to the horse. "Come along, let's go see if we can find a place to dry up.

Forlì is enjoying a peaceful period, it seems – the city gates are open and the guards aren't too suspicious of people coming in. Desmond gets the usual looks and comments, but he's warming up to the disguise of an entertainer – though the robes don't probably fit the look of a street performer. Either way, with a small bribe and a promise that _we're not going to make trouble, officer_ , they get in.

City of Forlì isn't one Desmond much remembers – the place always looked so wet and miserable, that he'd not spent that much as Ezio there, so it hadn't really stuck into his memory. The place isn't as bad as all that, though – the streets are dry, the people are a little dour, but not particularly more so than in some places in Florence. It's nowhere near as drab and colourless as it seemed in the Animus.

Giovanna seems to like it – but she's also nervous. As much as she is a city kid used to live on worse streets than those of Forlì, it's been well over a week, and this place is unknown to her. So, she latches onto Desmond's hand and stays close, looking around curiously but never straying.

"Good girl – stay close," Desmond says, distracted. There is something… familiar in the air there. Something that teases at Desmond's senses, something that…

"Desmond?" Giovanna asks hesitantly as Desmond stops in the middle of a crossing, trying to get a sense of which direction to go.

"Hmm," Desmond answers and then bends to pick her up, setting her against his hip. "I think… this way."

"Um?" Giovanna asks, latching onto his robes and then looking ahead as Desmond makes his way, following an invisible golden trail to where his senses call to him.

His senses lead him to a tavern with a faded sign hanging above the door, and a man, passed out drunk under a windowsill – and what sounds like a bar fight going inside. Not a place he'd ordinarily want to bring Giovanna to, but if his senses are right…

"Don't let go of me," Desmond says quietly to Giovanna and pushes his way inside.

To his disappointment, there is no one familiar in the middle of a scuffle with some locals – none of the drunken men and a woman engaged in beating each other up feels in any way recognizable to Desmond's senses. It confuses him for a moment, because he can _feel_ it coming from somewhere between the whole ordeal, a golden feeling of those familiar genes, and yet…

Then he spots it, under one of the tables. A scared-looking little boy huddling close to the table leg, hiding away from the fight – glowing familiar, telling gold.

So Ezio isn't here, it turns out, but he definitely has been, some four years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ezio's version of trail of breadcrumbs... honestly.
> 
> Also don't blame Claudia. The Auditore have been through a lot.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for past child abuse and technically human trafficking of a minor?

The kid is at most four, probably closer to three years old. He has short dark hair, beautiful green eyes – and bruises all over his arms and on his face. He doesn't say much, nothing at all, huddling closer to the table leg and barely moving. His mother, however, has a lot to say, as Desmond puts an end to the bar fight going on in the tavern.

"What, think you are a big man, old man?" she jeers. "Got some vitality left anyway – you won't get no charity from me, but if you can still get it up, maybe I can yet get something from you –"

She's a mess. Ripped dress, smeared makeup, blood on her teeth and alcohol on her breath, she has the look and the stench of someone who is drunk pretty much all the time. Drunk now too, as she kicks the downed tavern patrons and cackles at their moaning.

Giovanna is terrified of her – the kid under the table just stares at nothing, eyes fixed and body tense.

"Ma'am, is that your child under that table there?" Desmond asks, as politely as he can muster.

The drunken woman blinks at him, then at the kid under the table. Then she laughs. "Oh is that it then, Messere?" she asks and then barks. "Matteo, come here, boy!"

The boy jerks and for a moment looks like he wants to run – but he comes, meek and expressionless, as he's called, detaching from the table leg and crawling out.

The drunken woman grabs the boy by the shoulders and presents him to Desmond. "He's a good boy, my Matteo, healthy and whole," she says and then makes for a tragic expression. "But, oh, the feeding, messere, the upkeep! I am but a poor woman, my husband long dead, bless his soul – I do what I can, messere, but it's hard. You understand," she looks at Giovanna. "You've a child of your own. So precious."

Desmond looks at the woman, trying to figure her out. The boy, Matteo, stands stock-still in his mother's hold, resigned to whatever. Definitely not a happy child – and his is definitely not a good mother.

"Perhaps our children can play while we too… play?" the woman suggests, grinning, missing a number of her teeth. "And you pay? You can pay, can't you, old man?"

Maybe she was in a better shape four years ago, but Desmond can't see what Ezio could've ever seen in her, even for a moment. She does have startlingly vivid green eyes, but with this kind of personally shining through them they seem more poisonous than beautiful. Maybe Ezio had been as drunk as her – even Master Assassins can't have perfect judgement all the time.

Considering his approach, Desmond gently lets Giovanna down and then, after making sure no one's paying too much attention to them, he takes off his glove and holds out his right hand. "Madam," he says. "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement."

"Oh, Messere, your hand!" the woman exclaims and grabs it. "With such fingers for must have a golden touch with women! Oh, I might enjoy this yet."

"First, however," Desmond purrs and leans in, tugging at his hood so that it hides as much of his face possible, whispering, "you need to sober up."

Then, with glowing fingers around her wrist, he changes her blood chemistry. Not much, not enough to be dangerous – but definitely enough to have an effect. The woman sways, confused, blinking blearily at him – and then, with an audible sound of her stomach grumbling, she grabs a hold of her mouth, gagging.

"Please, go do what you're about to do _outside,_ " Desmond says firmly before turning to Giovanna and Matteo. The drunk doesn't even hesitate – she stumbles outside, already retching. Desmond ignores her.

"Hello, Matteo," he says, winding an arm around Giovanna. "I am Desmond and this is Giovanna. Would you like to come sit with us over there while we wait for your mother?"

Matteo doesn't so much agree as he simply doesn't put up a fight, following Desmond and confused and suspicious Giovanna to a table in the corner, which has survived the bar fight without damage. The little boy shuffles to a seat beside Desmond and then stares at the table, frozen.

Desmond considers him for a moment and then leans in. "Want to see something secret?"

Matteo doesn't react to the golden fingers in anything like the way Giovanna had – he just sort of looks at them. Desmond ruffles his fingers through the kid's hair until he gets a hair to check for what he already suspects. Sure enough, Matteo is Ezio's son. And he's quite possibly traumatised, definitely abused – and not in the best of health either.

"Desmond?" Giovanna asks, uncertain.

Desmond glances at her and then wiggles his fingers a little. "Giovanna you have a butterfly in your hair."

"What – where?" She immediately begins trying to catch the hologram, which draws Matteo's attention enough that Desmond can put a hand on the kid's head, fingers hidden in his thick black hair, their glow smothered as he begins healing the boy's injuries.

By the time Matteo's mother comes back, Desmond has healed the fractured ribs and sprained wrist and even the boy's budding measles. While Matteo looks much better now, if still in need of few more meals in him, his mother looks worse – she's still sweating the alcohol out of her, and her eyes are bloodshot and pained.

"Ugh, I need a drink," she groans, collapsing to sit across from Desmond.

"I don't recommend it," Desmond says. She could, with pain and patience, regain her body's tolerance for alcohol back – but it wouldn't be a pleasant process. "And before you do, I would like to talk to you about your son."

"What did the brat do this time?" she asks, annoyed.

Desmond eyelid twitches. Fuck it, and fuck this woman. "I would like to take him off your hands, since you seem to have so much trouble with him."

He isn't sure which is worse, the complete lack of shock, suspicion or offence on her face – or the look of greed that sparks in her eyes instead. "Why Messere, give up my only son, my pride and joy?" She demurs. "I couldn't possibly – how would I ever recover from the loss without… recompense?"

Yeah. _Fuck_ this woman.

* * *

 

A little sick of people – as well as penniless, _again_ – Desmond takes wide-eyed Giovanna and frozen stiff Matteo out of Forlì, finding them instead one of the many abandoned buildings that litter the swampy countryside. Forlì is having a flood season of the century, and so there's a lot of farms and houses left empty due to the creeping water. Some of them have dried a bit since being abandoned, and it's one of these Desmond and the kids take shelter in while he tries to figure out what to do.

First things first.

"Giovanna," Desmond says, taking her hand and pulling her gently closer – Matteo he has in his arms. The kid had latches onto him when they'd left the tavern and hasn't budged since, much to Giovanna's annoyance. "This is your brother. Matteo, Giovanna here is your big sister – you two have the same father."

"What? But – you said he was _my_ papa!" Giovanna says, sounding more confused than anything.

"He can be papa to you both – and he is," Desmond says calmly, while Matteo very carefully looks away from his robes.

"But –! He was supposed to be _mine!_ "

"Giovanna," Desmond says, gently admonishing. "Don't be selfish, sweetheart. You saw how Matteo's mother was, she's not at all like your mama was – would you like to stay with her? Do you think Matteo was happy there?"

Giovanna makes a face. "No, but…"

"Would you want me to send Matteo back there?"

"Well, no, but…"

Desmond reaches out to ruffle her hair. "Do you know, being a big sister, it's a really important thing," he says. "Big sisters are sort of in charge of little brothers, and protect them. Because they're so much smaller and can't protect themselves, not like you can, Giovanna. I'm going to need your help, and I hope I can count on you."

She hesitates and then sighs and looks at Matteo. Matteo clutches onto Desmond's robes tighter, looking uneasy. "I'm sorry your mama is bad," she says. "Desmond is not so bad though. He's gonna take us to papa who's hopefully better – though his sister and his mama didn't like us."

Matteo looks hesitantly at Desmond. Desmond pats his back gently. "I'll take care of you," he promises. "And no one is ever going to hit you again, not while you're under my care. Now – shall we have a look around?"

There isn't much in the house, but there is a fireplace and some old blankets, which were hung on rafters to keep them dry – and there are buckets and one big vat, probably for washing clothes and stuff. It's easily big enough for a couple of kids to have a bath in – and Giovanna is travel-dirty, while Matteo had probably never been washed at all.

"Right," Desmond decides, with Matteo held against his hip and Giovanna holding onto his free hand. "I think bath time is in order."

Giovanna looks hesitant. "Bath time?"

"Yep, bath time. Let's see where we can get some water."

Neither kid obviously had any idea what he even means by bath time, but Giovanna is eager enough to help him carry buckets. They get water from a well nearby – thanks to the flood it's full to the brim, making Desmond wonder about the local water table, but… management of the Forlì region's sewer infrastructure isn't really his problem, so, whatever.

They fill the pail in the house in a few rounds – Desmond carrying most of the water while Giovanna valiantly carries quarter buckets of water in as well. Then, while the kids stare at him uncertainty, Desmond tries the water with a bare hand. Cold.

"Let's keep this a secret, alright?" Desmond says, smiling mischievously to Giovanna and then ruffling Matteo's hair. Then he sinks his whole hand into the water and concentrates.

"You're doing it again!" Giovanna says, bouncing on her feet, as the water begins to stream. "What is it – is it witchcraft?"

"No," Desmond says. "It's not magic. I'm just adding energy to the water molecules – making them move a little more."

"What?" Giovanna asks confusedly.

Desmond smiles, concentrating a little more until he's sure that the water isn't just warm but also free of contaminants – wouldn't do to have the kids bathe in cholera contaminated waters. "Everything is made of little things – of atoms – and the more those little things are moving, the warmer they are. It's not magic, it's science."

Though trying to explain to children from the Renaissance that he has enough ancient technology in him that he can affect particles and waves is probably a bit much. Either way, "I promise, it isn't witchcraft – it is, however, warn, and now we can clean both of you up. Try it, isn't it nice and warm?"

Giovanna tries while Matteo hesitates, looking silently between Desmond and the water, until Desmond shuffles close enough to the pail for the little boy to reach out and touch.

Matteo still hasn't said a word, but he's relaxing a little against Desmond's side, so that's something.

"Oh, it is," Giovanna says. "It's warm!"

"Yep," Desmond agrees. "And now it's bath time."

Which goes about as well as he imagined it would – most of the water ends up on the floor as Giovanna gets the idea and Matteo oh-so-tentatively mimics her, every now and then glancing at Desmond to make sure it is approved. And so, both kids end up splashing up a storm. But Desmond manages, with some shiny golden cheating, to scrub them both clean, so he calls the whole thing a success.

It also successfully distracts them from the fact that Desmond is once more out of money and maybe panicking a little. Being cautious and settling into doing the least he could was fine when there was just Giovanna, she was a hardy kid and could do with less than his best. Matteo is three, malnourished and abused and obviously traumatised – the least Desmond can do isn't enough anymore. Isn't fair to Giovanna either.

So while the kids are safe and warm in their warm bath, Desmond starts a fire, seals all the holes and windows with some more shiny golden cheating, and with the abandoned house no longer leaking hey like a sieve, he turns to the kids' clothes and begins doing what he can for them.

Giovanna and Matteo are the children of Assassins, and they're under _his_ care – it's time they stopped looking like orphaned beggars.

* * *

 

And then again there's the issue of money – the issue of not having any. In Forlì there aren't that many smuggler hiding spots to loot, sadly enough – or if there are, they're very heavily guarded. Not something Desmond feels like taking on with kids in tow. Same with robbing people, pickpocketing, and the Assassin tomb of Forlì has already been emptied by Ezio, it looks like.

There could be means for Desmond to make money. He can heal to some extent, which could bring him a decent profit – if it didn't look like witchcraft to the locals and wouldn't probably get him killed. Fixing things up and selling them for profit could be a thing, but Desmond really didn't live this long to be a Renaissance version of a used car salesman, and it would take too long besides. He doesn't want to spend weeks in Forlì.

Sadly, no wealthy damsel in distress presents itself for him to rescue and be generously rewarded by.

"Why aren't we going to Venice?" Giovanna asks, daintily holding onto the hem of her newly repaired and partially remade dress, which she's refused to take off since Desmond made it fit her again, despite the water puddles.

"We need a ship, honey," Desmond sighs, arms loosely around Matteo, who's curled up in his lap, also in new clothes, half asleep.

"What about that one?" Giovanna asks, pointing. "No one's using it, I don't think anyone would miss it."

"A row boat is sadly a bit small for prolonged sea travel," Desmond smiles.

"Hmm," Giovanna says, balancing on a bit of broken brickwork. "What about that one?" She points at a caravel by the docks.

"We would need money to get that one – and we don't have any."

"Yeah, because we bought Matteo," Giovanna says and frowns in concentration. "What about… that one?"

Desmond looks and at first he doesn't see what she's pointing – at first he dismisses what's close by, expecting her to be pointing at an actual ship. But no, she's pointing at the shipwreck at the shoreline, a small schooner type ship, probably a fishing one, with broken masts and lopsided sails and obviously cracked and rotten hull.

"I think that's one's a little broken, honey," Desmond says with a chuckle.

"But you could fix it? With the shiny thing?" Giovanna asks and makes a magical sort of finger wiggling motion. "Couldn't you?"

"A ship is a little big…." Desmond says and then trails off. He could fix it, if he had the Golden City with its circuitry, he wouldn't even need a Prayer to do it. Here he doesn't have that network, but…

It's just a ship. It isn't even that big of a ship. He could make circuitry on it.

"I'm going to need a bit of gold," Desmond murmurs and gets up, hoisting Matteo up to rest against his chest, thinking. Just a few florins would do. And he knows just who to get them from. There is one person in Forlì he has precisely zero qualms stealing from.

After all, what kind of mother sells their kid? Honestly.

* * *

 

Matteo's mother wasn't very happy to see him, "Did you get tired of playing papa to the brat already?" indeed, but she buys his excuse of wanting to check if she had any toys of Matteo's that he could take. It makes her slyly demur again that she can't possibly part with such dear keepsakes – seriously, this woman – but it's enough. When she's turning to get the precious toys, Desmond takes her purse, waits until she's out of the room and leaves, heading back to the kids waiting on a bench across the streets.

"All done," he says and bends to pick the kids up. Giovanna comes readily to his side, while Matteo hesitates, glancing at the tavern. "It's alright, Matteo," Desmond says gently. "You're alright. Come on – let's get far away from here."

That does it – the boy throws himself at him, and with a satisfied sound Desmond hoists them both up, one kid on each arm, and then hurries away before Matteo's mother would have a chance to notice what she'd lost.

When night comes that day, Desmond gets to work on the ship. It's not very big, thankfully, with only little space below decks and only one proper mast – what he thought was another mast was the broken keel, sticking out.

The ship, though rotten and weather-worn, it's still recognisably a ship – and there's plenty of material to use. The deck is also in good enough shape that Desmond dares to set the kids on it, saying, "Don't move from this spot, alright? Giovanna, please look after your brother."

She nods while Matteo clutches on the hem of her dress, and together they watch, wide-eyed, as Desmond takes out coins. Five florins should be enough, with a few copper pieces thrown in. The rest of the materials he can get from the ship itself – so as long as he has the gold, he can squeeze the remaining necessary elements from the wood itself. It should be enough. This... would be pretty embarrassing if it wasn't.

Nothing to it but try.

Leaving the kids in the middle of the deck, Desmond goes to plant the coins – two at the base of the mast and the rest spread out in a row on top of the deck. He then goes to the middlemost one and kneels down.

Taking a breath, Desmond takes off his gloves and then, placing his hand on the florin he laid on the deck… he Believes.

He Believes that this ship was once seaworthy and whole.

He Believes in the structure of the wood and the materials that make them, in the cornerstones of both biology and engineering and that there's more than enough material here to make one whole, slightly lighter ship again.

He Believes that whoever made this ship knew what they were doing, that once an expert looked over this ship's construction and was satisfied – somewhere, in the past if nowhere else, this ship's designs still exist and they are whole and he Believes that through various means he could know them – Animus or archaeology, or actual damn time travel, it's possible that he could have built this ship himself, he could have the know how to do it. Someone does, and by laws of Probability and Statistics and The Universal Calculations themselves, it could have been him.

Under Desmond's hand, the coin melts and begins to spread out. A thin film of gold stretches towards the two coins on each side, and they melt as well, becoming nodes before spreading out to the last coins. From them, circuitry begins spreading out, slowly covering the ship and making it Known to Desmond – who Believes he Knows it. The ship becomes part of his Domain, as gold circuitry overtakes it, and then, with the power of his Belief, it begins to change.

Desmond Believes that the ship is whole.

And so, with a sound of wood cracking and metal groaning, whole it becomes. The whole ship shifts under them, as the holes in the hull are repaired and the keel goes back to its place, and above them the sails spread out once more, circuitry running through them, shining.

It's probably quite the lightshow. By the time Desmond is done, Giovanna is jumping on the deck excitedly while Matteo stares at the sails, open-mouthed.

"There," Desmond says and grins at them. "Now let's get out of here before someone shows up to burn me at a stake as a witch."

"You said it wasn't witchcraft," Giovanna says accusingly, while Matteo plops down to sit on the deck, tentatively patting the golden lines drawn on it. They're still shimmering faintly.

"It's not, it's science and a little bit of Belief," Desmond says.

"And magic!" Giovanna says and throws up her arms. "Magic ship!"

"It's not magic."

"Can I learn how to do magic?" she asks eagerly, doing an excited little dance. "Please?"

Desmond sighs. "We'll talk about it when you're older," he compromises and with a thought sends their magic ship out to the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desmond "It's Not Magic" Miles; the Wizard.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for allusions to infant mortality. Not sure if that's something to warn about but I'm warning about it anyway.

They arrive in Venice about an hour later. Desmond could of course take the normal amount of time for it, the kids would probably like it, but he's not feeling particularly like minding an increasingly adventurous six year old and terrified-of-everything three year old over the open seas longer than is needed, so… the trip takes them an hour. Safer that way, and if some laws of physics had to be bended a little, it's not as if the kids know.

And so, they arrive near Venice while it's still pitch black, the sea only lit by moon and stars. Matteo has by that point fallen asleep – it is late – and even Giovanna had gotten bored of traipsing around the ship and is just sitting beside Desmond in the middle of the deck, getting sleepy.

Yeah, Desmond thinks, an hour was more than long enough.

"Giovanna, come here – sit in my lap," Desmond says quietly. The girl yawns and then climbs into his lap, settling around Matteo, who's drooling against his chest. With the girl safely tucked in, Desmond peers at the city in the distance and then lays his hand on the central nodule of the ship's circuitry.

"You're making it shiny," Giovanna says, tucking her feet in Desmond's lap as well.

"Just for a moment. Hold on," Desmond says and concentrates.

Now that the structure is firmly under his control and properly converted, changing it doesn't take as much effort. He still had to Believe, but… not as much, just enough to bring forth a design in his mind and to fit it in the ship – not a particularly difficult bout of transmutation, all the material is they're and it's perfectly reasonable that you could take a big ship and make something smaller out of it. All it really takes is shedding the excess material.

Which he does without hesitation. The masts, the sails, the sides – good 80% of the material in the ship in total disintegrates into molecular dust that spreads over the water's surface, while the Circuitry tightens, drawing in the necessary material to make a much smaller, much tighter structure. There's some noise of wood cracking, but mostly it just sounds like shifting sand as the material dust falls all around them, raining down like glitter.

Giovanna's eyes widen and she makes a noise of complaint, but Matteo sleeps through the whole thing as the sloop shrinks into… a very pretty, gold-lined gondola.

"You broke it," Giovanna complains disappointedly.

"No, I just changed it from one type of boat to another," Desmond says, peering towards Venice – they are pretty far off still, but any flashes of light in the darkness would probably be spotted, and transmutation isn't exactly low-key. Better get a move on before people come in to investigate.

Gently, Desmond eases Giovanna off his lap and then settles Matteo down, curled in Desmond's discarded outer robe. Standing up, Desmond takes the oar and begins to swiftly usher them towards the faintly lit city in the distance.

"Giovanna," he says quietly. "You do understand that you can't talk about what you've seen me do, right? You can't tell anyone. It could be dangerous."

"I'm not dumb," she mutters, shuffling closer to Matteo and drawing the hem of Desmond's robes over her shoulders. "I'm not gonna tell."

"Good girl," Desmond says, smiling.

"I still want to learn magic, though. Will you teach me?"

Desmond hesitates, rowing for a moment in silence, pushing them closer to the city. By the nearest docks there's some commotion, so he aims the gondola away from there and angles it towards the side of the city instead.

"Do you remember what I told you about the golden stuff," Desmond says then, "on my face and in my hands, about how I touched something I shouldn't have? That's where the power comes from. It's not contagious if I'm careful, but it can be – and it can be dangerous, it can be painful. I'd really rather not spread it to other people. Especially not you."

Giovanna frowns, leaning her chin to her knees. "But… it's magic," she says then.

"It's not – and you have to know a lot to use it properly, like, _so much,_ " Desmond says. "How everything is put together, how the universe works, how things work. It's a lot of knowledge you need to bounce around in your head – it took me really long time to learn properly. Decades." Arguable centuries, Faith and Prayer weren't anywhere near a easy at the start as they were towards the end.

"I could learn if you taught me," Giovanna says hopefully.

Desmond sighs. And then he'd have _Faith 2.0, the Renaissance Edition_ in his hands. "I can teach you about the world and the universe and how things work. But I won't teach you this," he motions to his face.

Giovanna makes a face. " _But_ –"

" _But_ we can talk about it when you're older," Desmond says firmly. "When you actually understand what you're asking. Alright?"

"How much older?" Giovanna whines.

Desmond makes pretense of thinking seriously about it. "When you're my age."

"What – no, that's forever, you'll be dead by then!"

"Nice," Desmond snorts and looks towards Venice. "Two decades. Twenty years."

Giovanna makes a face, trying to count with her hands. "That's… um…"

"Two years for every finger," Desmond says smiling. "Count the whole set of your fingers once and then count them again – that many."

Giovanna concentrates for a moment and then squeezes her fingers into fists. "That's forever," she says flatly.

"That's the least you're going to get, I'm afraid," Desmond says firmly and then smiles. "This is some serious stuff, sweetheart. I'm afraid I need you to be a bit more grown up before you can get it."

"I'm smart."

"I know you are – but I'd rather you be a kid."

Giovanna sighs, frustrated. "But I don't want to wait!"

Desmond sighs too, thinking of how to put it that she might get it. "I don't want you learning it for similar reasons your mama didn't want you to work for Madame, alright? There's just – some stuff you're still too young to understand." And honestly, the younger one becomes an acolyte, the more zealous and mindlessly obedient they become, and Desmond thinks he'd rather jump into the sea than see that happen to Giovanna.

"Oh," Giovanna says, blinking. Then, after a moment of thought, she nods. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. But in twenty years I'm learning about magic," she says firmly.

Desmond snorts. "Not if you're still calling it magic, you aren't."

* * *

 

Desmond eases the gondola into the canals of Venice, unheeded by the city guards – just another, if strangely dressed, gondolier among many. Over the open sea there's bit of a search going on – a marine city like Venice couldn't just leave some mysterious lights over the gulf uninvestigated, and so several boats are now raking the area for clues it seems, searching for... whatever they think might've caused the lights. Enemy ships spying on the city, maybe. Whichever it is, they won't find it, as Desmond and the kids slip into the canals, unnoticed.

By that time Giovanna too has fallen asleep despite her best efforts, so Desmond takes his time in the canals, exploring the city's waterways and… _feeling_ around. The city is mostly asleep, aside from the occasional stragglers, and of course the gondoliers, who are roaming the canals in search of passengers. So far…

Desmond can sense a lot. Too much to fully make it all out – there are several threads of _familiarity_ in the city, several points of interest. One to the east of the city, another near the central areas, another to the west and south…

Desmond ushers the gondola on, all but scenting the air curiously. So many points of interest and importance, but nothing really stands out above the rest. He thinks…

Either Ezio had gotten a whole handful of women pregnant here, or he's starting to tap into the threads of Ezio's connections. There's a _settled_ quality to the city – someone with Isu genetics lives here and had made connections. They form a thin spider web of intent and power that Desmond can tap into – this way to Antonio, this way to Theodora, this way to… right, Leonardo is in Venice too, of course. And oh, isn't that tempting?

But where is Ezio?

Desmond leans his oar against a nearby staircase leading into the water and then concentrates specifically on Ezio's DNA. Where, oh where is the baby daddy?

Closing his eyes, Desmond lets his mind drift until he finds a golden connection, leading further into the city. It's… faint. Too faint. Familiarly faint.

Desmond presses his lips together, concentrating a bit more just in case, but… _goddamnit._

Ezio isn't in Venice either, is he?

With a sigh, Desmond sets his oar back into the water and turns the gondola awkwardly around, moving in to track the golden thread, while the kids still sleep and Venice is quiet.

Might as well go to check out what kind of gift the old alley cat left for him this time.

* * *

 

"Someone needs to neuter that man, I swear," Desmond mutters.

The thread led him to what looks like an orphanage, a very religious looking orphanage – a very _glum_ looking orphanage. In the bright and shiny Venice, this place looks off-puttingly terrible, grey and cold with a joyless front yard fenced off with iron gates. Desmond gets the distinctive impression that if barbed wire was already invented, this place would be covered in it.

Inside there is a child, Ezio's child. Desmond just has that feeling.

For a moment Desmond pictures himself being heartless enough to leave well enough alone. He already got two of Ezio's kids on him, and he's running out of arms to carry more – and sure, he could probably use his own Faith to grow some more if he really needed it, but… yeah, _no_ , he did the godking thing once, and once was enough. Either way, what can he do with more kids? And this one is… probably very young.

They are also in an orphanage, which, logically, might mean that they'd be pretty well off? Right?

Except… Ezio isn't in the city right now, but Desmond knows he would come back later, for the Apple if nothing else. Venice is where he got the thing, and it hasn't happened yet. So, Ezio would be here, eventually. And he should by rights feel and be able to find this kid, and if he would, then Desmond would already know about it – and he doesn't. Which means…

The child wouldn't live long enough for Ezio to come back.

Desmond looks down at Giovanna and Matteo, both  asleep in his arms with Giovanna drooling lightly on his robes while Matteo's face planted on his shoulder, hiding even in his sleep. Desmond imagines having left them where he found them, and it kind of turns his stomach.

So, he wrenches the orphanage gates open and marches up to the door.

A very weary-looking nun opens it – and then looks  horrified.

"No, Messere, _no_ – we cannot possibly take more, the orphanage is full to the brim, there is no more space, I'm sorry –"

"No, no, wait – I'm not bringing them in, I'm looking for someone," Desmond says quickly before she can slam the door to his face. "A child here, a relative – very young, probably recently brought in here?"

The nun hesitates, giving him a suspicious look. "What?"

"A child was brought in here, recently," Desmond says, reaching for an explanation desperately – feeling mentally around the threads of DNA and Universe itself for something this woman might buy. "Please. A young man in my family, he got a woman with child and – I only just found out the child was brought here. Please, I only want to bring them home."

The nun peers at him, eying his face and then the children also in Desmond's arms. Then her expression eases a little. "Well, you better come in then, Messere."

"Thank you, Sister…?"

"Marciana," she says and lets him in.

"I am Desmond, and these two are Giovanna and Matteo – I couldn't leave them alone at home, so," Desmond offers the nun an apologetic smile.

It endears her to him, it looks like, because though her expression is still weary, she smiles. "Are you their grandfather?"

"Something like that," Desmond sighs.

The nun shows him in to the orphanage, which looks like it's run mainly by her sisterhood – all the attendants there are nuns also. They are surprisingly welcoming after they realise that Desmond isn't there to abandon the kids he's carrying, but in search of one more.

"Oh, what precious little angels," one if the younger nuns sighs. "Are they performers too, Messere? Those clothes…"

"They are eager to learn, if nothing else," Desmond says. "I only wanted to dress them the best I could." And the idea of them in little capes with beaked cowls was so _unbearably_ cute that since he was making them clothes anyway…

"Yes, they are very adorable," Sister Marciana says impatiently. "But you were looking for your other grandchildren, yes? Do you know how old they are?"

Desmond scents the air and – oh, man. "No older than a week I think," he says miserably. "It was very recent."

The nuns share a look. "You've never seen them?" one of them asks.

"I only heard after the fact that they'd been born," Desmond says. "And brought here. I came here the moment I learned about them."

Another look shared among the nuns. "Your care for your family is admirable, Messere," one of them then says. "Please wait here while we go fetch them."

Desmond has a bad feeling. How Giovanna and Matteo are still asleep, he isn't sure, but neither had so much as stirred at all in his arms despite the fact that he must be all but vibrating with nerves now.

"Pardon me for asking  but – the children," one of the nuns says delicately. "Are they all… illegitimate?"

"I'm afraid so," Desmond agrees with a sigh.

"Sounds to me like you need to teach your son some restraint," one of the older women says, disapproving.

Ezio is not his son but, "Yeah, I'm starting to think so too," Desmond agrees. What the guy really needs is a lifetime supply of condoms. Either that or a vasectomy. Desmond could supply that one with Faith, happily, if he ever caught up with the guy.

And then the nuns bring the children.

In plural.

"Twins," Desmond says, his voice flat with shock. Quickly shaking his head he blinks and _feels_ at the two infants swaddled in the nun's arms, and – yeah, they're Ezio's, both of them. "Oh _no_."

"I'm afraid so," the apparent head nun says, moving closer to show them to him. "Twin girls. We were going to have a nice baptism for them in a week, but I'm afraid – well, there is no beating around the bush. The wet nurse stopped producing milk two days ago, and we haven't had the luck of finding another. The children aren't in good state – unless you find a wet nurse right away, I don't think the children will live very long."

Desmond blinks. "Oh," he says. Then he looks between the two children he's already holding and the two he isn't, and, oh man, "I need another pair of arms," he says and it sounds stunned even to his ear.

The nuns chuckle. "I'll get you a sling, shall I?" one of them says and heads off, while Desmond leans in to look at the infants.

They're _so small._ Little red-faced beans, bundled up tightly and – yeah, he can tell they aren't well. One of them looks deeply unhappy even in sleep, and the other is making discontented snuffling sounds – you can just tell that they're exhausted and the moment they will wake up, there will be screaming. They look both too pale and also too red at the same time.

They also already have little tufts of Ezio's dark hair, and Desmond loves them, so, so much.

"I'm sorry, is there – is there a place I can put Giovanna and Matteo down?" he asks helplessly.

"I can take one –"

"No, I'm sorry – they don't like being approached by strangers, so I'd rather you didn't. Is there a couch or…?" Desmond asks hopefully.

Of course there isn't – it's a convent turned into an orphanage, it has no earthly comforts. The best the nuns can offer is blanket by a fireplace, which Desmond takes eagerly, laying first Giovanna down on it and then Matteo beside her. Then he turns to the babies – and that's what they are, _babies_. Barely older than newborn _babies._

They're identical twins, it looks like – both have the same hair whorls and little birthmarks on their shoulders. They are both also absolutely tiny, with tiny little feet and toes and little fingers and fingernails, and oh man, tiny little _ears…_

"Oh man," Desmond murmurs, measuring little fingers against his own, _so tiny,_ and repeating, "Oh _man._ "

The nuns watch him with mingled amusement and sorrow, and he can see why. The babies really don't look that good – and it isn't just because of the hint of malnourishment. They're sick too. And it doesn't look like with just the flu.

 _Shit._ And he can't even analyse in front of goddamn nuns.

"You said – sling?" Desmond asks, looking up from the babies. "I should get them home and – get started on finding that wet nurse."

"Yes – here. Do you know how to swaddle a child?"

"Not very well," Desmond admits.

The nuns are kind and patient enough to show him, first how to swaddle the unhappy exhausted infants so that the swaddling isn't too tight but supports their necks, and then they show how to carry a swaddled child in a sling. Fitting two of them in is a bit tricky, but – what else can he do, really? He can't exactly go about making a pram by bending the power of the universe in front of some Christian nuns.

He'd make one the moment he could, though – among so many other things.

"Thank you so much," Desmond says to the nuns while gathering Giovanna – who starting wake up a little now – and Matteo from the blankets. "Really – thank you."

"May Lord's mercy keep you and the children safe," the nuns say gently. "May they live a blessed life, however long, and may He take them into his arms in kindness when their time comes."

Bit rude. The babies aren't _dead yet,_ nor would they be any time soon, and Lord would have nothing to do with it – Desmond will damn well make sure these babies will live. Still, he thanks the nuns profusely and escapes the place as fast as he can.

"Papa?" Giovanna mumbles against his shoulder. "What –?"

"Careful, sweetheart, don't move," Desmond says, hurrying down the street and towards the gondola. "Mind the babies."

"Babies –?" Giovanna asks and then notices the cloth wrapped around Desmond's body – and the infants swaddled in it. For a moment she stares and then she looks at Desmond.

"They are your little sisters, Giovanna, and they are very sick," Desmond says and hurries to the edge of the canal, awkwardly easing himself and his burden into it. "There's not much time – can you mind Matteo for me?"

"Um. Yes," Giovanna says, sleepy and subdued – but obviously picking up on the urgency of his voice. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take us to see a friend of your father's and then, hopefully, I will have a safe place to tend to the babies without anyone seeing – but we need to get there first," Desmond says and with one hand supporting the sling grabs the oar.

He's for a moment the rudest and possibly fastest gondolier in Venice, as he tears down the canals of Venice and towards Grand Canal and then to the south of it. The babies get restless halfway through the trip, and once one of them wakes to enough to stay crying unhappily, the other follows – and by the time Desmond reached the right side canal and makes his way as close to his destination as he can over the waves, both babies are wailing and both Giovanna and Matteo are wide awake.

"Sorry, honey," Desmond says to Matteo, lifting him to one arm and holding out his other hand to Giovanna and then ushering both of them off the gondola. "We're in bit of a hurry now, but I promise, nothing is wrong – everything is going to be just fine in just a bit, alright? Just hold on, Matteo – Giovanna, stay close –"

Quickly he heads away from the gondola, across a small square with a well and towards a door on the other side. He doesn't hesitate knocking – though the wait before anyone opens makes him damn nervous.

"Hi," Desmond says without preamble when the door finally is opened by a bleary-eyed, obviously freshly awoken man. "I'm – connected to Ezio and I need a place to hide as I do some wondrous stuff the church would probably burn me at the stake for – please, can I come in?"

And that's how Desmond meets Leonardo da Vinci – with one child in tow, another on his arm, and two babies screaming wretchedly in a ragged secondhand sling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More bbys
> 
> (Also someone called Ezio an "alley cat" in comments and it was so perfect that I stole it)


	7. Chapter 7

Leonardo lets them in. Whether it's because Desmond dropped Ezio's name, because of the mention of heresies or because of the sheer amount of noise the babies are making, Desmond doesn't know, nor does he care. The artist closes the door behind them and then they're safe.

"Any friend of Ezio's is welcome here, of course, but Messere…" Leonardo says, confused. "What on Earth has happened?"

Desmond doesn't answer, bowing down to let tense and confused Matteo off his arm. "Giovanna, please, mind your brother for a moment for me," he says, glances around and then chooses one of the tables, which looks relatively clean and clear of important artist stuff.

Leonardo watches with confused interest and then hurries forward to clear what little there is on the table, when he realises Desmond means to set the babies down on them. "Your little ones look unhappy," the man offers confusedly.

"In their state, I'd be too," Desmond says and eases the sling open, bending down to set his precious burden on the table as gently as he can. "Sorry to barge in like this – do you have students here, apprentices, anyone that might come in and see?"

"They know better – but I will lock the doors," Leonardo says, looking between Desmond, the babies, and Giovanna and Matteo, both who had rushed to the table to see. Then, bewildered, he goes to lock the doors.

Desmond spares a glace around to make sure windows are shuttered at least, and then turns all his attention to the twins, pulling his gloves quickly off. They are squirming in their swaddling, obviously in some pain – and the hard surface of the table probably doesn't help. So, easing his hands behind both their heads to cup at the back, Desmond bends low over them and then concentrates.

Definitely malnourished and hungry – it's been way too long since either had a full meal. It seems like the nuns had tried, the kids had been fed with goat milk, but it only made their bellies hurt worse, and it had given them both upset stomachs. The early starvation is bad enough, but what lies underneath it is worse.

Both of the babies have syphilis. It's recent enough that they didn't get it in utero – neither of them is suffering deformities or birth defects, their organs are decent size and neither has jaundice – but they're about to break into snuffles. Probably contracted the disease during birth – which, Desmond is relieved to find out, went easy for both and they were carried to full term. That probably why they're still alive – premature babies would've already succumbed to infection, probably.

"Messere?" Leonardo says tentatively.

"Shush," Giovanna says. "Papa is doing magic."

"He is doing _what_?"

Desmond ignores then, bending low enough that his forehead touches the babies. He'd healed Matteo's measles, but measles is a virus – syphilis is a bacterial infection. Human body can fight measles off by itself, so all he had to do was bolster Matteo's own immune system until it fought the thing off, a perfectly normal bit of healing in Golden City.

You can't become immune to syphilis. It takes antibiotics to fight it off. Either that or… something a little more drastic. And tricky.

Desmond draws a breath. He can't synthesise antibiotics inside the babies' bodies, even he can't Believe in something like that. With time he could probably make actual antibiotics for this, but he is not wasting any more time, not when the babies are in pain now. No, this has to be dealt with now, which means...

Desmond exhales and Believes.

He believes in subtleties of radiation. In the structure of bacterial cells, in their walls and their nuclei, and that everything is weak to certain forms of waves. He knows for a fact that people like him, with enough technology in them, produce a certain low-level harmless ambient radiation all the time – it's by manipulating it he can affect photons and matter, by manipulating the patterns of the waves.

He Believes that he can control it to target only the Treponema pallidum cells in the twins' bodies. Like photons passing only through gaps, the radiation washes through the twins bodies, only affecting those specific cells, only burning them – a tidal wave that only lifts up the trash on the ocean surface, but leaves the ground below untouched.

Desmond Believes and Believes and Believes, finding each and every malicious cell in the children's bodies and burning them out.

Judging by the silence that follows, the glow of his circuitry was particularly bright – even Giovanna who is used to it is looking wide-eyed. Leonardo just stares, openmouthed.

Desmond coughs. "They had syphilis," he explains, while the babies whine confusedly and then, with the golden warmth passing by, they begin crying. "And now they're very hungry," Desmond says apologetically. "I don't suppose you have a glass and maybe a bit of rubber you won't miss?"

"I'm sorry?" Leonardo asks in faint voice.

"Glass and rubber. And water," Desmond says. "Please."

Leonardo stares at him a moment longer, and then turns around like an automaton to go and get it. Desmond shares a look with Giovanna and Matteo, and then gently picks up the twins from the table, going to sit cross-legged on the floor so that both older children can see them.

"These are your little sisters," Desmond says gently, while Giovanna sits on her knees beside him and Matteo shuffles quickly closer to see. "They were sick, but they will be fine now." He would need to check all the children for underlying illnesses and infections, though. Matteo should be fine, since the only thing Desmond picked up on him was the measles and that was easy to fix, but…

Vaccines might be a thing to consider.

Leonardo comes back to him with a bucket of water, a glass bottle and what looks like some sort of rubber stopper. "Are these alright?"

"Do you mind if I change them?" Desmond asks.

Leonardo shakes his head – he's going from gobsmacked to confused but fascinated now. "No, go right ahead – do whatever it is you need to do," he says almost eagerly and pulls up a stool to watch.

Settling the twins across his knees, Desmond takes the glass and the rubber in each hand and Believes in that with right processes the glass could be reshaped and the natural rubber treated and shaped. Leonardo and the older kids all watch in fascination as the glass bottle is thus reshaped into a form Desmond wants – into two bottles with screwing lids, and the rubber turns into two teated caps, perfect for the bottles.

"Incredible," Leonardo murmurs. "How do you do it – is it really magic?"

"It isn't," Desmond says and fills both bottles with water from the bucket before setting them on the floor beside him and sticking one golden finger in each, first purifying the water and then… adding to it.

Mother's milk thankfully isn't hard to make – though a little tiring. His own body knows how to produce it, because human bodies are _ridiculous_ – and all the material is present in his body as well.

Making sure to add in some extra antibodies into the synthesised milk, Desmond eases his fingers out of the bottles and then screws caps on, turning to the wailing babies. It takes some teasing and nudging before the twins get the idea, first one and then the other – and then they're nursing like, well… two babies on the brink of starvation.

"There," Desmond sighs. "I think we're all going to live now."

"Incredible," Leonardo breathes again, leaning in and watching the babies suckle. "Incredible – Messere, what is your name?"

"Desmond – and these are Giovanna and Matteo. The twins sadly don't have names yet. I guess Ezio will have the privilege of naming them."

"I'm sorry?" Leonardo asks. "Why Ezio?"

Desmond looks up at him. "Well, he's their father."

For a moment Leonardo looks stunned – then he makes a face of realisation and says, "Ah," and then looks a little hurt. "Ezio never mentioned having children."

"He doesn't know, yet. I've been collecting them on the way," Desmond says and smiles to Giovanna. "This little lady I found in Florence, and this brave boy," He adds as Matteo squirms under his arm to take a closer look at the babies, "I gathered from Forlì. And the twins I just collected from a local orphanage – hence the hurry."

"I see," Leonardo says slowly. "And you, Messere?" he asks then, his eyes following the lines of circuitry on Desmond's face. "You are…?"

Desmond looks down at the twins. What is he, really? Ezio isn't the Prophet yet, not that Desmond would want to advertise that sort of connection anyway. He's not an Assassin, not… not precisely, anyway. And he can't go around now and claim he's a nobody, just a street performer, nothing to see here.

"I guess I'm the fairy godfather," Desmond muses and then snorts at the unintended pun of it. _God_ father indeed.

Leonardo's eyebrows migrate higher on his face. "Indeed?"

Desmond offers him a wry smile and then looks back down at the twins. "I couldn't just leave them," he says. "I'll repay you somehow," he says. "For this."

"Messere, I have seen magic tonight," Leonardo says. "And if these children are truly Ezio's, then they are more than welcome. My door is open to you, no repayment required. Though if you can cure syphilis so easily, then I know a number of people who could use your aid – and pay handsomely for it."

Desmond frowns a little. "It's not something I'm looking to advertise in time when people get burned at the stake for witchcraft, thanks."

Leonardo blinks. "Time?" he asks, leaning in interestedly.

Well, crap.

"Never mind," Desmond says and then looks at Giovanna who tugs at his arm carefully. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"I'm hungry," she says a little plaintively, while Matteo squirms his way into Desmond's lap with the twins.

"... Ah," Desmond says and looks at Leonardo. "Um, I hope it isn't too much too ask, but I can't make something out of nothing, and – really, I'll pay you back –"

"No, no, never mind," Leonardo says and quickly gets up. "I'm used to feeding hungry apprentices, I'm sure you won't strain my pantry in the slightest – come right this way, my lady, let's get you, your brother and your godfather something to eat."

Giovanna looks at Desmond, wide eyed and nervous.

"It's alright," Desmond says and smiles. "He's a friend of your father's – you can trust him."

Giovanna still hesitates a moment before going, casting looks at Desmond and the other kids before finally squaring her shoulders bravely and going.

"You don't want to go with them?" Desmond asks Matteo.

The boy shakes his head and sticks a thumb into his mouth, his eyes on the still suckling babies.

"Alright then," Desmond says and presses a kiss to his hair.

Soon the babies are full and unwilling to drink more. Desmond sets the bottles aside and then, very carefully, goes about burping them. They're still a little unhappy and whining – getting rid of the syphilis bacteria didn't repair all the damage done, but now that they have food in them and there's more material to safely transmute the healing, Desmond goes about fixing the rest. The fever, the stuffy noses, the invisible aches and pains – holding the twins gently to his chest, Desmond even fixes the upset stomachs.

Which then means he has to deal with dirty diapers. While Matteo is taking space in his lap and the twins are against his chest and he's really out of hands here. And he's starting to really feel the strain on his system too – there's a limit to these things, and transmuting the milk was already about enough.

He should change the diapers by hand… except there aren't any diapers to change into. Nor a proper place to wash the babies. Or even to safely set them down.

Sighing, Desmond considers all the kids in his lap, Matteo half asleep again and the twins so painfully exhausted still, and... fuck it, he doesn't have the energy for this.

Tiredly Praying the diapers clean, Desmond slowly lies down on his back on the floor of Leonardo's bottega, gently shifting the kids around so that everyone has room to lie down, Matteo stretched out over his legs while the twins lie swaddled against his chest, Desmond's arms around them. On the other side of the bottega Desmond can feel Giovanna, safe and a little excited about all the food. Leonardo is being gentle with her as they're gathering a plateful to share.

In hindsight, Desmond isn't sure when the last time he slept was. Has he been sleeping? Hmm…

* * *

 

"... But the ladies didn't want me because grandmama is sick and weak, so papa took me away again and we stole a horse and went to find farther – but we found Matteo instead, and Matteo's mama was the _worst,_ so papa bought Matteo and then he made a ship –"

"I'm sorry, he made a ship?"

"Papa did, not Matteo, Matteo doesn't even talk," Giovanna says. "And I guess papa didn't really make a ship, but he repaired one with magic, and then we came here and –"

"I'm sorry, my dear – where is the ship now?" Leonardo asks, sounding both existed and bewildered.

"Oh, papa made it smaller so that we could fit into the city," Giovanna says impatiently. "Do you want me to tell you the story or not?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry – magic ship just seems like an exciting thing to see."

"It was before papa made it small. _Anyway,_ we used the small magic ship to come to the city I guess, and then we were here. I slept through most of it."

"That is fascinating. And you've seen your – _papa_ – use more magic?"

"Yeah, many times. Papa isn't very good at hiding it."

Desmond opens one eye, glancing down to the weight on his chest – the babies are contently asleep, but Matteo is gone. Someone also put a pillow under his head and blanket over him, which explains why he's so warm.

Then he looks to where the voices are coming from. Giovanna is sitting there with Matteo in her lap – oh, that's cute – while the very serious little boy is munching on a piece of dry fruit. In front of them on the floor there's a plate of dry foodstuffs – and across sits utterly fascinated Leonardo, with a smooth slab of wood sitting on his knees and piece of charcoal in hand – he's sketching something.

Beside him, there's a piece of paper with sketches already on them – Desmond's hands clasped loosely around the twins, circuitry on his worn and deeply veined skin perfectly replicated.

Well… that's flattering and worrisome.

"Giovanna," he calls, "Have you gotten any sleep, sweetheart?"

"Papa!" Giovanna shouts and Matteo scrambles off her lap, hurrying to Desmond's side. "We thought you got sick but Leonardo said you were only asleep and exhausted and we should probably let you sleep and –"

Desmond smiles at Giovanna's babble, patting Matteo's hair fondly while carefully sitting up, trying not to wake the babies. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few hours – it is morning now," Leonardo says, setting down his sketches. "And to answer your question, yes, the children all slept – mostly on you, I might add. I'm surprised the weight didn't bother you."

"I'm getting used to it," Desmond admits and yawns. Damn, the last two days really took a lot out of him, huh? "I don't suppose there's food enough for me?"

"There is indeed," Leonardo smiles. "And more besides, if you need it."

"Thank you kindly," Desmond says and gets up, the twins held gently against his chest. "Sorry about passing out on you. I guess I was more worn down than I thought."

"That's quite alright."

Desmond sits down beside Giovanna, Matteo immediately shuffling to his side, as he can't crawl into Desmond's lap with the babies taking that place. Desmond ruffles his hair and reaches for the food.

Now that he's aware of the exhaustion and hunger and no longer floating on the Belief that he's just fine, he's famished. Common problem for the strongest of Faithful – when you can simply Believe and Make It So, mortal physical needs are kind of left by the wayside… until they caught up to you, anyway.

Desmond's track record was about a month, he thinks – a month without eating or sleeping without ever noticing it, not until someone asked incredulously if he never slept – and then reality asserted itself with a three day coma and acute malnourishment. Fun times.

"Thank you for this," Desmond says.

"Think nothing of it," Leonardo says, watching him with interest as Desmond eats. "I took the liberty of sending a runner to check – but as far as I know, Ezio isn't in Venice currently."

"Yeah," Desmond agrees. "Do you know where he is – when he might be coming back?"

"As far as I know, he was heading to Monteriggioni," Leonardo admits. "And if what Giovanna says is true, I'm afraid you might have passed each other by over the sea."

Desmond looks to at him. "Are you serious?"

"I'm afraid so," Leonardo says apologetically. "It will likely be a month at least before he comes back – assuming, of course, he doesn't find… work elsewhere."

By which means, assuming he isn't contracted to kill someone. Desmond sighs. Great, this is just great – if he'd just stayed in Monteriggioni…

He wouldn't have found Matteo or the twins. Right – that doesn't bear thinking.

"I guess we will have to wait here for him to come then," Desmond sighs, not feeling like heading back again, not with this many children to take care of. How the hell he would manage living in Venice though, with four children and just one stolen purse's worth of coin...

"You intend to stay here?" Leonardo asks.

"Not _here_ specifically – we'll get out of your hair, I promise. I meant Venice in general," Desmond says and looks down at the twins. One of them is starting to wake up, probably because of the taking. "Giovanna, honey – could you fetch those bottles, the ones I made?"

She quickly gets up and fetches the bottles. The milk in them had gotten a little rancid, so Desmond gets rid of it and then fills them with water from a pitcher Leonardo had supplied for the children.

"How do you do that?" Leonardo asks, leaning in, as Desmond sticks his fingers into the bottles and sterilises them and the water in them. "You said you cannot make something out of nothing, and yet – lord, this must be like watching Jesus turn water into wine."

Desmond makes a face. "Please, no – is not, not that," he says awkwardly. "I'm taking the material to make the milk from my own body – and transmuting it into the water. Fats, proteins, minerals, vitamins, carbohydrates – whole load of immunoglobulins, and so on."

"I'm sorry – I don't know what that means. Aside from the fats, perhaps," Leonardo says, frowning in concentration.

"Mother's milk is a cocktail – a mix," Desmond amends, "of all the things babies need to grow safely. A lot of it is naturally present and synthesised in adult bodies, and the rest I can – you know, never mind," Desmond sighs. "I'm taking the material from my own body, let's stick with that. It's basically the same as breastfeeding, but without breasts. Honestly, breastfeeding would be easier than this."

Leonardo arches his brows. "You make it sound almost like you _could_ breastfeed."

Desmond shrugs. "The vestigial organs are there," he says. "But honestly I think I'm a little old to be growing breasts."

Leonardo looks utterly fascinated by this. "Incredible," he murmurs. "So nipples in men –"

"Yeah, let's not go there," Desmond snorts and screws the teat caps onto the bottles, just in time for one of the twins to wake up – and cry out loud enough to wake the other.

They take the teats a little easier this time, while Desmond smothers the face he wants to make at their toothless little mouths. _So cute._

"Are they going to be crying _always_?" Giovanna asks, making a face.

"They're babies, Giovanna. Being a baby is hard, and they have precisely one way to communicate anything, like when they're hungry or cold or hurting..." Desmond says. "Yeah, they're going to be crying a lot. It's actually a wonder they slept quietly for this long, but that's mostly because they're really tired."

Giovanna frowns at that.

"We have to be patient, sweetheart. It's not their fault," Desmond says, lifting his elbow so that she can squirm her way under it, Matteo having already taken the place on Desmond's other side. For a moment they're all quiet, watching the babies suckle.

Then Giovanna asks quietly, "Are we going to stay here?"

Desmond frowns and looks up at Leonardo.

Leonardo is watching them, thoughtful. "Fascinating," he murmurs. "Well, Messere, I don't mind boarding you for a while, certainly not, but I'm afraid this is not the safest place for infants and toddlers – I have many sharp and dangerous tools here, as well as paints that can be lethal."

"Right, of course," Desmond says with a grimace. "Thank you, Leonardo, I appreciate it – and I appreciate you helping us out. We will find some other place to stay."

"If I may?" Leonardo asks. "Your – ability. Could it conceivably fix, say, broken floors and collapsed rooftops?"

Desmond frowns. " _Maybe_ – why?"

Leonardo smiles. "The building across the square is for sale at a fairly reasonable price, as it was damaged in the last year's floods… but the repair would be costly. If you could repair it without cost…."

Desmond hesitates. "I likely could, but I don't have that kind of money…"

"I can lend it to you," Leonardo says.

"I'm not sure I can ever pay you back," Desmond says, a little alarmed.

"Oh, don't worry about that. Ezio can pay it back, easily enough – and if not, I will still get to enjoy the pleasure of knowing such a fascinating individual as yourself."

Desmond blinks at him. Oh boy, that's going to be trouble and half. There's a terribly curious gleam in Leonardo's eyes – Desmond can almost hear his mind going, and it sounds a bit like doom.

But – it's the best offer he's probably going to get. And the kids need a place to sleep and stay in safety and peace. What place could be better than La Serenissima? "If you're sure," Desmond says tentatively.

"Then it is settled," Leonardo says brightly and clasps his hands, bouncing energetically to his feet. "And let me be the first to welcome you to the neighbourhood – I'm sure you will enjoy it immensely."

Yeah, doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The things I had to Google for this chapter....


	8. Chapter 8

Desmond places two coins in each room, mentally mapping out the circuitry. Leonardo watches from the side with the kids, Giovanna and Matteo holding hands while the artist holds the babies – a much preferable form of audience to the Faithful, if also a little… too familiar. Desmond would really prefer not to have any audience, he's gotten too lax with this stuff as it is, but…

There's something to be said about being able to put a look of wonder on faces of children and polymaths.

Kneeling down by the coins that will make the central node, Desmond places his hands on them and then concentrates and Believes.

The house Leonardo had bought for them – because thee man had really bought a _whole damn house_ – isn't very big. It's not the entire building, just an older section of the row of buildings that sits against the canal of San Stin, where flood waters had damaged most of the houses and this one worse than all the others. While the others in the row had been repaired and the water in their cellars was removed, this one was empty at the time, and the water had been sitting there for over eight months now. And it hasn't been sitting idle.

The cellar is expected to be a complete loss and floor is broken through, and the water that stays inside the cellar has rotted most of the wood structures. The repair would be more expensive than having the whole house rebuilt, probably. If one went about repairing it the normal way, anyway.

Desmond spreads the circuitry out and into every room, cranny and crevice of the house and banishes the rot and mould before regrowing the wood. It will be a little lighter, a little hollow, but with a lot of engineering he eases the wood into sturdy enough form, tightening and treating the surfaces to make them more waterproof. In the cellar the water rushes out through small crevices and holes in the walls, which then patch themselves up, circuitry crawling over the created spaces and making the stonework stronger, the petrified wood below turns to stone.

Desmond strengthens the structure from the foundation to the ceiling beams, fixing the walls and the roof and finishing with a wash of heat, which would kill all the mould and other contaminants.

By the time he's finished, they have a perfectly repaired and faintly glowing house.

"Lord almighty," Leonardo murmurs.

"It's safe to walk around now," Desmond says, smoothing his hand over the circular node of gold and making a face. Now he has two Domains – this house and the gondola tied up in the canal just beside it. He could destroy them, drain out the circuitry, but…

These things are held together by Faith and Gold – he takes the circuitry out, and reality would eventually reassert itself.

"We have a house," Giovanna says, wide eyed. "We have a house! We have a home!"

Excited, she runs across the floor to the wall opposite from the door and almost flies out of the window in her eagerness to see. The canal is just outside. Matteo, hesitant, looks between her and Desmond and then chooses the latter – Desmond picks him up halfway across the floor and takes him to look as well.

"Lord almighty," Leonardo says again, starting at the floors, the walls, and then looking at Desmond. "Messere, you must tell me how this works, how do you do it – what is this magic you use?"

Desmond gives him an uneasy look and then glances at the twins Leonardo is holding. Still asleep. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," he says evasively. "Hmm."

The twins need a crib. There's not much extra material in the house to use, but there is a couple of abandoned chairs and broken desk on the second floor.

"But Messere – what you do defies the laws of nature," Leonardo says almost plaintively. "Laws, which I am the most obedient follower of – if you can simply break them –"

"I'm not breaking them – I'm just being really… flexible about them," Desmond says and moves to head to the room with the broken chairs. "Come on – I'll make a crib to lie the twins down. Giovanna, careful with the windows, you don't want to fall out."

"I'll be careful!"

Leonardo follows Desmond eagerly as he heads to what was probably the dining room, where the broken chairs sit. Desmond doesn't have much gold left, just one full coin, but a single item doesn't need much, a mere fraction of the coin's gold is enough.

"What is the purpose of the gold? Does it spread your power, your influence?" Leonardo asks, relentless. "Why such blocky and straight-lined design? Does it have a magical purpose, a symbology, or is it simply means to save gold? Is this why gold is considered to be so valuable despite being such a soft and easily damaged metal – does it have qualities unknown to most people?"

Desmond sighs. "I use gold because it's highly conductive and very resistant to corrosion and because it's malleable enough that I can make a lot of circuitry with a little bit of gold." Honestly, he's using way more gold here than he strictly sliding needs to, since he's making smaller things with more gold than he did in the future.

"Circuitry?" Leonardo asks, excited.

"Never mind, Leonardo."

"What do you mean by conductive?"

Desmond sighs and finishes the crib with a stroke of his gold-covered fingers, drawing a line down the middle, directly connecting the circuitry of the crib to his own – making it part of his own network. That way he'll be constantly aware of the twins' status, when they are lying down in the crib, anyway.

With that done, Desmond sets Matteo down long enough to undress the outer layer of his robes and construct a makeshift mattress out of them. "There," he says and reaches for the babies. Together he and Leonardo set them down – and in the back of his mind, Desmond starts tracking little heartbeats and blood levels and pressure. Freshly fed and happily sleeping, the twins settle down without issues.

"Messere," Leonardo says, imploring. "Teach me this magic – I know I am old for an apprentice, but I swear, I will be the best student anyone could hope for."

Desmond sighs and picks Matteo up. "I know," he agrees. "But no, I don't think I can."

"But –"

"It's not just that I don't want to, Leonardo – which I don't – but I don't think you'd be capable of this anyway, not without –" Desmond closed his mouth before he can say _retroviral treatment._ "You need certain heritage for this. Ezio has it – I'm afraid you don't."

Leonardo blinks and rather than looking disappointed he seems fascinated. "It is a gift related to Ezio's Sight?" he asks. "Then Ezio could learn it?"

"He could, but I don't want to teach him either," Desmond admits. "This stuff is…. I know it looks incredible, but it has – consequences."

"The gold in your skin? I wouldn't call it an unpleasant side effect."

"That's because you only know how it looks, you don't understand how it works," Desmond says and looks at his hand. "Where I'm gold, I'm not flesh – I'm a machine. And the more I use this, the more I do with this," and the more is done to him, "the more machine I become. And it's – it's not a good feeling."

Of course, it would take longer than human lifetime, longer than his own lifetime, for the conversion to be complete, but – children of gold-adorned Faithful tended to be born with the infection already in place. The infection was compounded with each generation – how many it would take before kids were born more gold than flesh?

Naturally Leonardo isn't thinking this in terms of centuries and generations – he just wants to learn for himself – but Desmond can very well imagine what it would do to human society if the Faith was remade here, where people still numbered in millions – and what it would lead to, when those numbers grew into billions with Faith already spread across the nations. And you don't need to have Isu genetics to be infected – only to _control_ it. And the more gold people had in them… the easier they are to control – and to make Believe.

The very thought makes him shudder.

Leonardo frowns thoughtfully. "Are you –"

"Papa!" Giovanna shouts, running excitedly to the dining room. "The door in the side works now, and it leads to a garden! Does that mean it is our garden?"

Desmond hums. "I'm not sure, but I doubt anyone will mind if you play there," he says. "Though you have to be careful with the canal."

"Of _course,_  I am not stupid – and I never fell into the Arno either, and the canals are much smaller," Giovanna says and reaches his hand, tugging at him. "I want to see the up stairs – can we go see?"

"Yeah, let's go see," Desmond says, casting a look at thoughtful Leonardo and then following her out.

It wouldn't be the last they talk about this, probably. Desmond is not looking forward to it.

* * *

 

Over the course of the next few days, Desmond does what he can to fill the house with furniture and all the things kids need. Leonardo is invaluable for that – which makes Desmond feel all the worse about dodging his constant questions. The artist not only brings him materials to transmute – with no ulterior motives, surely, no sir – but he also brings actual pieces of furniture, linens, wool and such for their beds and clothes – which Desmond usually also has to transmute – and finally, toys.

Leonardo is already the favourite uncle by the merit of being the only uncle – but that makes him the most favourite ever. He makes a beautiful doll with hair and everything for Giovanna and a little toy soldier for Matteo – which the two end up switching somewhere along the way, with Giovanna's toy soldier mounting daring rescues of Matteo's princess from the prison of the twins' crib.

"Well, as long as they like them," the artist says, satisfied and casts a sly look at Desmond. "Of course my humble craft has nothing on your magic –"

"Are you kidding me?" Desmond asks dubiously. "You sat down and crafted those things by hand, spending time and effort to make them beautiful – look at the crap I make! And I cheat!"

Leonardo's little dolls are far prettier than anything Desmond knows how to make. The furniture he makes turns out looking pretty thanks to the golden circuitry, but in structure they're all pretty simple. Desmond might know how they come together on the molecular engineering level – but there was a reason why he stole the design for the Golden City from history. He doesn't have a single artistic bone in his body.

The stuff he makes might be impressive in the moment it's made – but at the end of the day, they're not very artfully constructed. More utilitarian than anything.

"Well," Leonardo hums, considering the set of dining table and chairs Desmond had made. "I wasn't going to say anything."

Desmond snorts. "Sadly, being able to cheat doesn't make me an artist," he says. "I can do straight lines. That's about it." And steal designs across the time, but it doesn't seem worth the effort here.

After that Leonardo makes small suggestions whenever he's making items, like, "Wouldn't it be nice if there was a flower pattern carved into the wood there," and, "I think a slight outward arch there would make it more impressive," and, "Aren't straight table legs a little plain? How about a little curve?"

Desmond isn't so prideful as to ignore the advice of a master, so whenever Leonardo has a suggestion, he tries to take it into account – which does tend to make the end result less like something bought from Ikea. Leonardo gets a little bolder with his suggestions, which eventually results in inevitable, "Could you replicate a design if I sketched it out for you?"

Desmond eyes the rather nice looking cabinet he'd somehow made and hums in agreement. "Yeah, if I had the materials and understood the design clearly enough."

Leonardo starts small, to his credit. He designs a new crib for the twins, with mechanisms for rocking it and beautiful pattern of carved doves all over – he brings in the wood for it and everything. The end result is a smashing success, enough so that Giovanna blows right past jealousy to sisterly smugness of _look how pretty the bed my sisters sleep in is._  Even Matteo seems impressed, and Desmond is pretty damn pleased himself – until he sees the unholy light of excitement in Leonardo's eyes.

"Do you know how many designs I have which I could never make because I don't even know what kind of tools I would need to build them, never mind having the time or the right materials?" he asks almost gleefully.

"Oh no," Desmond answers flatly.

"Oh yes," Leonardo says and pats his shoulder. "Messere Desmond, I do believe this is the start of a most beautiful friendship."

* * *

 

Giovanna settles into living in Venice with gleeful eagerness. Most of it, Desmond thinks, is just the idea of having a home which she likes – with rooms and everything. Granted, neither she nor Matteo spend much time sleeping in theirs – they tend to find their way into Desmond's bed night after night – but it's a space that's just theirs and where they can play safely. Though Desmond does put bars in the window, just in case. It's a two story drop into the canal after all– it looks a bit too tempting even for him.

Matteo is still not talking. He can understand and he follows orders and can answer questions with nods and shakes of his head – and his vocal cords and auditory sections of his brain are just fine, Desmond checked – but he will not open his mouth to speak.

"Don't feel ready for it, huh?" Desmond asks while Matteo lies in his lap, tugging at his doll's hair. "That's alright. Take your time, sweetheart. There's no hurry.

He'd be more worried, if he didn't catch Matteo humming sometimes while playing with Giovanna. He also had a suspicion that when he's alone, Matteo might be sounding out words to himself – and maybe, just maybe, he has a slight speech impediment, which might be a cause for his selective muteness. Desmond can very well imagine the woman who gave birth to the boy not having much patience for his speaking difficulties – and considering how bruised Matteo was…

Well, Desmond doesn't feel like pushing the boy. Though he maybe makes more effort making funny voices, some with speech impediments, when telling bedtime stories from there on, just to show the kid it's alright.

The twins in the meanwhile sleep, eat and eventually grow. One week in, they can recognise his and Giovanna's voices, and their eyes are open more and they stay actually looking at things, when they're close enough. Desmond asks Leonardo for help in designing a mobile for the babies.

"I'm sorry, a what?" Leonardo asks.

Right, they probably don't use things like that for babies in this time, considering that the most common means of controlling babies is to swaddle them so that they can't even move. "A colourful moving sculpture I can hang above the crib to give the twins something to look at," Desmond explains. "The ceiling isn't very interesting. It doesn't have to be complicated – just colourful things hanging from sticks and strings."

Leonardo takes the concept and comes back with a beautiful construction of a metal frame and glass birds – which Desmond sadly ends up hanging by the kitchen window instead, before replicating the thing in light wood sticks and wool.

"But –" Leonardo says, frowning.

"If that thing falls on them, it's going to kill them," Desmond says. "But _thank you_ , it's very beautiful and I'm going to treasure it forever." Which he would. It wasn't everyday you got a sculpture handmade by Leonardo da Vinci.

"In that case, will you help me with my designs?" Leonardo asks slyly. "As repayment."

Desmond considers and then shrugs. What's the harm. "So as long as they aren't weapons, sure."

"I only make weapons for Ezio," Leonardo says confusedly. "Why would I want you to make weapons?"

Oh the poor man. "No reason," Desmond says. "So what's the design?"

Thankfully, with all the materials Leonardo had been bringing in, the magical repair of the house doesn't raise too many eyebrows around the Campo San Stin. Obviously, they are repairing something with the stuff they they are bringing in. Still, Desmond and his _cadre of bastards_ aren't exactly approved in the area – and though the area is somewhat bohemian and Venice as a whole is more tolerant of strangeness than some other places… Desmond still gets some snooty looks from the locals – especially local mothers.

It only grows worse when with Leonardo's help in designing it, Desmond makes a pram fit for the twins – but with golden lining, obviously, and maybe a more futuristic axle design for shock absorption. The sight of his kids wearing mostly white and being clean and healthy and happy was bad enough – but gold-lined baby carriage is just too much.

"What is _that_?" one of the local mothers, not rich enough to hire a nanny but wealthy enough for _appearances_ , asks in shock.

"Uh - a baby carriage. Carriage for babies," Desmond answers, wondering if they haven't been invented either. Leonardo had gone along with it happily, but...

"Oh, where on earth did you get such a thing? It must have been very expensive for an old performer such as yourself."

"I get by," Desmond answers, wary, while Giovanna and Matteo huddle closer to him. They'd meant to have a walk around the district for fun, but the woman is kind of standing in the way. And she doesn't look particularly friendly.

"How much did it cost – where did you get it? My baby _needs_ a carriage like that."

"I – made it with a friend of the family," Desmond says. "It's mostly his design – though I don't think he'd be interested in making them for sale, he has other projects right now."

"That's fine, you can sell that one to me," she says, a little imperiously.

"Um – no. I need it myself," Desmond says.

"I will pay five lire for it," the woman says, taking coins from her purse. "Which I think is reasonable price."

"I am not selling the baby carriage, my babies still need it themselves," Desmond says slowly. "I thank you for the offer, though."

"No, you will sell this to me – it's far too nice for an old clown and a bunch of bastards – my child is _legitimate_ and properly baptised and he deserves a nice carriage."

Desmond just stares at her in disbelief. "Wow," he says. "Go jump in a canal, lady."

"Excuse me?!"

"Go jump in a canal," Desmond repeats and then pushed the carriage on. "Come on, kids, let's go."

The woman screeches something about _insults_ and _how dares he_ and _she's going to get the guard_ and so forth.

"You made her mad," Giovanna says, a little alarmed.

"Apparently so, but she was being very rude," Desmond says. "She really should have jumped into the canal, it would have cooled down her temper."

"What if she calls the guards?"

"I'll deal with it," Desmond shrugs.

Which he eventually does – but thankfully, there's something you learn about diplomacy in three hundred years of running a city. The guards of the city of Venice might not be exactly on his side – he is the apparent guardian of a bunch of bastards, after all, and it's not exactly a high stance in society – but that there's something stance in society can't buy you. Like common sense.

"I'm sorry – I am very new to Venice, but I was under the impression that the markets and merchants here are praised for their fairness, and that sales are highly moderated," Desmond says. "Is it common for people to forcibly buy a small family's only possessions off the street for pay far beneath the apparent value of the said item? Should I now sell the clothes off my back too, regardless of whether I wish to, only because she wishes to buy them, and for such a low price?"

"I'm sure the money was good," the guards says. "And the lady says you insulted her most gravely."

"And now so have you – I too committed the crime of calling her a lady," Desmond says wryly. "After she offered to buy my carriage for five lire and then called me an old clown and my children a bunch of bastards when I refused to sell."

The guard arches a brow. "That seems like a reasonable price – why not simply sell it to her?"

Desmond blinks at him. "Well, the Maestro's work had lost its value, hasn't it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The carriage was designed by Leonardo da Vinci – he's something a family friend. Come, let me show it to you."

The guards take a moment to look at the gold lined, beautifully carved baby carriage with doves and flowers on the sides and metal parts polished to a shine – Desmond had even gone out his way to make the circuitry fit the design. It's honestly one of his best works – it would have been right at home in the Golden City.

"Designed by Maestro da Vinci?" the guard asks.

"He lives just across the square – you can ask him yourself."

"I think we have to. And the sum was five lire?"

"Mmhm," Desmond agrees. "Would you sell it?"

No, the guard would not.

* * *

 

So there are some snooty neighbours who don't much like having them in the neighbourhood, but thankfully Desmond doesn't have to deal with them much. Mostly he and the kids stick to indoors or to the closed-off garden that apparently is theirs – though Desmond maybe on a quiet night creates a small fence between the garden and the canal just beside it, just in case. The neighbours probably don't approve that either, but whatever. It's kind of hilarious, really – at his age, worrying about nosy, disproving neighbours. How utterly _normal._

Overall though… it's nice. Giovanna and Matteo play in the garden, while Desmond enjoys the shade of the vine trellis shielding it while the twins sleep happily in their pram beside him, utterly ignorant of the annoyances of the outside world. It's the most domestic Desmond thinks he's ever been. Stay at home dad at the age of _too-damn-old._ Yeah, there's worse ways of spending time in his twilight years.

He thinks he could do this for a while longer. Even with Leonardo still trying to sneak the secrets of the universe from him – something Desmond fears he might end up giving into eventually… it's not bad.

It's not precisely saving the world though, is it.

Closing his eyes and leaning his hooded head back against the wall of his house, Desmond sighs and then he feels it – something he'd missed because he's so concentrated on the kids, and their combined shine sometimes blinds him to everything else. But there it is – now that he concentrates on it, he can feel it trying to hide, but there it is – right there, so close, _so bright._

Desmond opens his eyes and turns to look.

Resplendent in Assassin's full regalia, Ezio is sitting crouched above the vine trellis, watching them silently.


	9. Chapter 9

For a moment Desmond thinks Ezio is simply going to leave as quietly as he appeared and keep his distance. He doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get down, not even after Desmond has spotted him – he just sits there, his face shadowed under his hood and unreadable, watching. The only hint of emotion is the line of his mouth, pressed tight.

And what he must be seeing, Desmond can only imagine. He's used to the kids, and they still shine so brightly – this is Ezio's first time seeing them, and they're all in one place. Giovanna is making a sword and a shield out of twigs and leaves for her toy soldier while Matteo is sitting with his doll sat in his lap, watching her seriously, as if trying to memorize the steps she's making for later replication – which, Desmond knows from experience, he might actually do. Neither of the kids is saying anything – they still rarely make much noise when they play, and Matteo's muteness sort of exacerbates the issue there, making Giovanna quiet too. Not that Desmond precisely minds, since they seem happy enough being quiet – though he would like to hear them _laughing_ more.

Ezio doesn't know their histories, though. Is it just the sight of them that makes him hesitate, or how unlike normal children they play? Does he even know how children normally act – how many children does he know? At this point he hasn't even met Caterina's children. He grew up as the big brother to Claudia and Petruccio, but that was years ago. How much he remembers, if nothing, is anyone's guess.

Overall, it's hard to say what Ezio is feeling – but it's definitely not a smile on his face.

And he's still not coming down. And Desmond thinks he probably won't – nor as long as the kids are there to see and hear.

Desmond lowers his eyes to the kids, contemplating sending them inside and out of the way, but… that's not something he wants to teach the kids, that they're in the way – even if they haven't noticed Ezio, that would still be what he'd be doing, getting them out of the way. So, instead he settles down to lean against the wall, waiting for Ezio to do something.

Nothing.

Fine.

"The eldest is called Giovanna," Desmond says under his breath. "I found her in Florence, begging for coins and pickpocketing passerbys. Her mother died last year and she lived homeless in the streets. I took her to Monteriggioni, hoping to give her home among your family, but… Your sister wasn't very welcoming. So we headed off to find you instead."

Ezio's hood shifts almost imperceptibly above them – he's listening.

"The boy is called Matteo – I found him in Forlì," Desmond continues. "Hiding under a table in a tavern while his mother and the patrons of the tavern had a bar fight. His mother beat him to the point of broken bones – when I asked about him, she sold him to me like a piece of bread. He still hasn't said a word, but I think he's recovering."

Ezio's white shadow above them shifts, and Desmond leans forward a little, to look into the pram. "These two I found here, in Venice – they were left at an orphanage few weeks back, and they were slowly dying of starvation and illness when I reached them. I got there just in time," he says and adjusts the covers over the twin girls, smiling at the snuffling sound one of them makes. "They're twin girls – they don't have names yet. I thought you'd like to name them yourself."

"Papa," Giovanna calls and lifts up her toy soldier. "Look!"

She'd managed to finish the sword and shield and had somehow managed to attach them to the hands of her toy soldier – which is now at the flick of her fingers swishing around with the stick sword. Desmond grins, while above them Ezio turns to look at the girl.

"That's great, sweetheart," Desmond says. "Ready to fight monsters?"

"We need a monster," Giovanna says determinedly and looks around. "Come on, Matteo," she says then, getting up. Matteo doesn't hesitate following her anymore, as they leave their toys down in order to collect rocks around the garden to turn into a monster – which, inevitably, turns into building a tower for Matteo's doll to be stuck in so that Giovanna's soldier can rescue her.

Desmond looks up, and Ezio's gone. He blinks at the empty support strut where the Assassin had been standing – and then lowers his eyes, disappointed.

And then someone sits beside him.

"God _damn_ ," Desmond almost jumps. "You're quick."

Ezio leans his elbows to his knees, eying the children and then looking at Desmond and – oh, he's so young. Doesn't even have the beard yet – his cheeks are clean shaven and his eyes still so bright. Nothing like the dark bitterness they turned to after Monteriggioni, which only deepened with age. Ezio isn't even _thirty_ yet.

"Who are you?" the Assassin demands, his face tight with suspicion.

Desmond sighs and leans back a little. "Desmond," he says and looks at the kids. "I have some of the same Gifts you do. I could see the children shine and I knew they were yours."

"How do you know me? How did you…?" Ezio trails off, glancing between the pram and the kids, collecting stones.

Desmond doesn't have any idea how to answer that. He'd never bothered to come up with an explanation, because, honestly… in the beginning he hadn't thought it would ever come to it. When he'd meant to take Giovanna to Monteriggioni, it was just that – he'd drop her off, do what he needed to, and leave before anyone asked too many questions. When that had failed, he hadn't thought about _explaining_ this either. It hadn't… seemed necessary. Never mind he had the kids to worry about.

Ezio isn't even aware of the Apple of Eden yet.

"I couldn't leave them," Desmond says and looks at him. "I don't really have better explanation than that."

The corner of Ezio's mouth tightens and he looks to Giovanna and Matteo. The expression on his face doesn't change, but his eyes are full of emotion, too much of it to make any single part out. He looks down, covering his eyes with his hood, as if looking is too much. "You went to Monteriggioni."

"I did."

"My sister didn't believe you," Ezio says.

"I didn't do a very good job explaining the situation," Desmond sighs and folds his arms. "And she doesn't have the Gift, so she couldn't see the connection."

"Hm," Ezio answers, staring at the ground. He clasps his hands, the leather of his gloves stretched taunt. "What do you want?"

Desmond looks at him, frowning. "Well," he says and then doesn't know what to say. What does he want? For Ezio to be happy. How asinine would that sound? "You could start with meeting them, talking to them."

Ezio looks at him, only one eye visible under the hood.

"I brought them here with the promise that they'd meet their father," Desmond says. "I was hoping you would be happy to see them, but… I guess this is a bit much." One kid would've been easy – four, two of whom are infants? Yeah. A bit harder to wrap your head around, probably.

Ezio doesn't say anything, looking down again. "They call you papa," he says then, quiet.

"Giovanna is headstrong, and she hasn't met you yet," Desmond shrugs. "I'm sure that would change if you… made an effort."

Ezio is shaking his head before Desmond even finishes. "If you know who I am, you know _what_ I am," he says, his voice low. "I cannot, not living a life like this."

Desmond sighs and closes his eyes briefly. That's… a tone of voice he didn't expect from Ezio, not from this version of Ezio. That was the tone of voice of much older man, the one in his fifties who wrote a letter dripping with bitterness, _perhaps because my heart is too hard to risk the joys of real love_ … Damn, it's been _three hundred_ years, and he still remembers it, how sad it made him.

"They seem happy here," Ezio says quietly. "Happier than they'd be, living in hiding and danger with me."

Desmond doesn't answer immediately, wondering again the things Animus glossed over, the things he didn't see because they weren't vital to the search for the Apple. There were years of Ezio's life that were skipped over, this year one of them. He always seemed so open, emotionally, always eager for company and pleasure in any form he could get it.

He didn't expect this sort of sadness from him, not yet. But why wouldn't he be sad, with his history, his life…

"You should at least meet them," Desmond says quietly. "At least introduce yourself."

Ezio looks at him. "Would you take them to Monteriggioni if I wrote a letter to Claudia, explaining this?"

Desmond looks at him seriously. "Are you going to stay here?"

"Yes."

"Then so will we," Desmond says and looks him over. "We've built a house here and the kids are happy here, I'm not uprooting them again. When you head to Monteriggioni, we'll come with you, but not sooner."

Ezio doesn't look pleased about that, but he doesn't argue, just frowns and looks away. "It's dangerous."

"I can protect them, I'm not without tricks of my own," Desmond snorts. "Besides, if something happens, you're here too. And I think now you're out of time."

Ezio looks up and sees it too – Giovanna has now noticed the stranger in their midst, and she's giving Ezio a hard look over Mateo's head, sizing him up. Desmond's own easy body language probably calms her down a little, but she's become more wary of strangers due to their nosy neighbors, Leonardo notwithstanding. Matteo follows Giovanna's gaze, and he too becomes watchful, his back tensing a little and his hands clutching onto his doll protectively.

Ezio in answer goes completely tense and wary.

Desmond glances at the assassin and then stands up, motioning the kids to him. Their play is immediately abandoned, and they run to him, Matteo to hide behind the hems of Desmond's robes while Giovanna grabs his hand and holds on, watching Ezio warily. Smiling, Desmond grips her hand reassuringly and then crouches so that Matteo can, naturally, climb into his lap for safety.

"Giovanna, Matteo," Desmond says and looks at Ezio – who is pushing his hood back, his expression still tense, but obviously trying to not look so off putting. "This is your father. Ezio Auditore da Firenze."

Neither the kids nor Ezio say anything – they just eye each other like expecting an attack. Matteo tugs at lapels of Desmond's robes to pull them over himself a little, and Giovanna presses to Desmond's side, her whole body tense. The silence stretches.

It's Ezio who eventually breaks, and it's about damn time. He stands up and then he crouches in front of Desmond and the kids, perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet and still a little too magnificent in his fancy Assassin robes and belts and armour. His face, though, eases – through the wary hurt, he smiles, and if it's a little broken, Desmond thinks the kids probably don't notice.

"Hello," he says. "Giovanna and Matteo. It's very good to meet you."

And of course, in that moment, the twins wake up and begin to cry.

* * *

 

"Do you remember my mama?" Giovanna demands.

"I – uh, I am not sure. What was your mama's name?" Ezio asks, helpless.

"I don't know – but we lived in Florence. She worked for Madame in her house."

"Um. I'm afraid that doesn't narrow it down much for me."

"She was pretty and she wore a pink dress and her hair was dark and –"

Desmond smiles a little, his back to them as he fixes the bottles for the twins. They are in his kitchen now, and he can _feel_ the awkwardness wafting off Ezio in waves – and he has to wonder if Ezio would remember the woman, even if he knew the name and had a face to go with it. He probably wouldn't even remember Matteo's mother, or the twins' mother, if given names. The guy is a bit of a village bicycle.

It's a wonder, really, that consequences didn't catch up with the old slut before this, and Desmond can't say he has _any_ sympathy for him as he sits there, enduring the keen-eyed interrogation of a six year old who almost has the concept of what his mother was and what Ezio's relation to her was… but not quite.

"It was many years ago – how old are you, Giovanna?" Ezio asks, while Desmond sticks his fingers into the water-filled bottles and infuses the water with all the necessary elements to turn it into mother's milk. With his hood up, the shine should go unnoticed by Ezio. Should.

Judging by the look Ezio gives him, narrow-eyed and interested, it doesn't.

"Papa says I am probably six years old," Giovanna says. "But I don't remember. Papa has been teaching me to count."

"Has he?" Ezio asks, watching Desmond finish making the bottles and turn to the twin's' pram. The baby girls are both wailing in hunger now, but they're used to bottle feeding now and quiet down the moment they're offered the teats.

"I'm _very good_ already," Giovanna says proudly. "Matteo not so much."

"Giovanna," Desmond says admonishingly, not looking away from the babies. "Your brother is only half your age. Don't be rude."

"Sorry, papa," she says, shifting where she's sitting. Matteo is sitting beside her, hugging his doll and staring at Ezio with a look of three-year-old's suspicion. Ezio, on other hand, looks between Desmond and Giovanna and then back at Desmond – staring at his bare hands, holding the baby bottles.

Thankfully, he doesn't ask.

"Papa, huh," Ezio murmurs and leans back on the chair Leonardo had re-designed and Desmond had remade, resting his elbow over the backrest. He doesn't sound jealous – Desmond isn't sure what the emotion in his voice is, but it seems more thoughtful.

To think he'd miss having direct connection to emotions of people around him.

"This house is very nice," Ezio comments then, looking around – looking down, mostly, at the lines of circuitry barely hidden under second hand carpets.

"Yes, but, uh," Desmond looks up and grimaces. "Your friend, Leonardo, helped us get it, and I haven't even begun paying him back."

Ezio's brows arch. "You know Leonardo?"

"Papa makes things with uncle Leonardo," Giovanna says helpfully.

"When we came to Venice, we had nowhere to go – and then I had these two to take care of," Desmond says and smiles down at the twins, still determinedly suckling on the milk. "We needed help, so we went to Leonardo. He let us in and then he helped us to get this house. But yeah, we owe him some money."

"Don't worry about it, I will cover it," Ezio says, looking between him and the pram and tugging idly at his gloves. "The twins – they are… very young."

"Less than a month old," Desmond agrees and glances at him. There's a look of mingled nervousness and interest on his face. "Do you want to hold them?"

Ezio's eyes widen a little and he leans back, recoiling at first – and then leaning forward again, catching himself. "I'm sure I shouldn't – I could drop them –"

Desmond considers him and then smiles. "Let me finish feeding them first," he says and looks down at the twins. "Shouldn't take too long – they're hungry little ladies."

Ezio looks almost scared of the concept, but he nods, swallowing.

Giovanna looks between them and frowns. "What about Matteo's mama?" she asks accusingly. "Do you remember her?"

"Do you know _her_ name?" Ezio asks warily.

"No, we never asked because she was horrible, but she works in a tavern in Forlì and she has green eyes like Matteo. Do you remember?"

Ezio shakes his head helplessly, and had Giovanna been standing, she probably would've been stomping her foot. "Don't you know _anything_?!" she demands.

"About you, it seems no, I do not," Ezio admits and then turns on the charm – and it's a wonder it took this long. "Why don't you tell me? Tell me about your mamas."

Christ, this guy. Desmond shakes his head at how weirdly suggestive Ezio sounds even without trying, and then concentrates on getting the twins fed, monitoring their status in the back of his head through the circuitry of the pram. Maybe a little bit more milk the next time…

Ezio is getting a lecture on what constitutes a good mama – which, Desmond fears, will soon start including what constitutes a good papa too and _what doesn't_ – when Desmond finally sets the bottles down, empty. The babies are smacking their lips and making sleepy content noises. Ten minutes and they'd be out like a light.

Desmond checks, but only one of the babies swallowed air, thankfully. Quickly throwing a linen over his shoulder, Desmond gently lifts that one up to burp her, and turns to Ezio.

"Come here."

Giovanna and Matteo both bounce off their chairs when Ezio stands and warily comes closer, watching – the baby lets out a little burb and then she's content and Desmond hesitates. "Mind your armour," he says then and shifts closer. "Here – like this. One hand behind her head, like this…

Ezio quickly tugs his cape so that it falls over his arm and then accepts the baby like it's a bomb about to go off, or like a figurine made of glass – holding her with care and terror. The baby isn't so sure about it, making puzzled little baby noises and wringing her hands at the cape she finds herself surrounded by and – god.

Desmond has never missed cameras so much.

"Should she not be swaddled?" Ezio asks confusedly.

"It's warm out," Desmond says in lieu of explanation. And he'd made the babies actual futuristic baby clothes, with little onesies and everything, which makes his life a little easier. Plus, being swaddled they can't move, which can't be good for their muscle development, so Desmond generally goes without.

"Ah," Ezio says, staring at the baby on his arms. He still looks confused. "Are they always so… small?"

"That tends to be how it goes, first year or so," Desmond agrees and lifts the other girl up and to rest against his chest, soothing her confused whining with a hand on her back. "They're not used to being separated," Desmond explains.

"Ah," Ezio says again. He looks at Desmond, at the baby Desmond is holding, then the one he is holding. He seems lost.

Giovanna and Matteo watch them warily, and maybe a little jealously at the attention the twins are getting. Then Giovanna spots a opportunity. "Father should take the babies," she says with all the sly wisdom of a six year old. "And we will stay with papa."

"W-what?" Ezio asks, shocked.

"It would be fair," Giovanna says, nodding at her own reasoning. "That way we will get to stay with papa, but father will still have some children."

Desmond snorts at the horrified look on Ezio's face as he looks between his eldest and his youngest. "No, Giovanna, I don't think anyone is going with Ezio for now," Desmond says and glances at the Assassin. "I think we're all going to stay here for a little while longer."

Giovanna frowns, her plan foiled – and then she realises what Desmond said and looks at Ezio. "You don't want us either," she says accusingly.

"No – no that is not it, I am not equipped – I don't even have a _house_ –" Ezio flails.

"We are going to live here, and Ezio is going to visit us," Desmond says, rocking the baby in his arms. "He's going to visit us, often. _Isn't he_?"

Ezio throws him a wide-eyed look and then swallows, looking down at the baby in his arms, held oh so delicately in the shelter of his cape. "Yes," he says, holding out a finger at the baby and making a sort of heartbroken expression when she grabs it in a tiny fist – too small to even wrap around his finger. "Yes, I will visit every day."

Giovanna considers that for a moment, while Matteo looks between them, silent and big-eyed. "We get to stay with papa," she says then, as if testing the concept out loud. "But father will visit."

"Yes," Ezio agrees, looking at Desmond. "That – that sounds like a suitable arrangement, yes?"

"Sounds good to me," Desmond agrees and kisses the baby girl's head. She's yawning against his chest. "And now it's time for these ladies to lay down for bed."

Ezio looks how he does it carefully and then repeats the process exactly, easing the baby he was holding down with infinite care and laying her down beside her sister. "I should go," he says then. "I have duties – I came here straight from the ship, and…" he trails off, awkward, looking at Desmond. He obviously wants to say something more, but can't in front of the children.

"Giovanna, Matteo, go wash up for dinner," Desmond says. "I'll walk Ezio out."

"We're not dirty," Giovanna says quickly.

"I can _see_ the dirt under your fingernails, sweetheart. Go wash."

Giovanna frowns at her hands and then obviously admits that, yeah, they're dirty. Sighing, she takes Mateo's hand, and together they head to the bathroom.

Ezio awkwardly collects his gloves and then follows Desmond out of the kitchen and a little further from the bathroom. "I don't know where to begin, how to…" the Assassin says, trailing off as he looks back to the kitchen. "I barely understand this. But they – they are mine."

"Judging by the way you go on about it, I doubt they're even the only ones," Desmond says with flat amusement. "You might consider pulling out every now and then."

Well, that's a sight he doesn't recall ever seeing – Ezio Auditore, looking sheepish. "Yes, ah. I will… take care in the future," he says uneasily. "You will care of them?" he asks then. "I can pay for it."

Desmond makes a face and folds his arms. "That's not why I am doing this," he says. "Though I won't deny that the money issue is… an issue." He trails off and sighs. "There is one thing I need though, and I might as well come out and say it now."

"Yes?"

"One day, I need access to the Sanctuary under Auditore Villa," Desmond says. "I need to – add something to that place."

"How do you –" Ezio stops himself and closes his eyes. "Did you know my father?"

"Never met the man," Desmond says honestly. "But I do know some things about your family, and I know about Assassins and your history. I'm on your side, I promise you that."

"Yes, I can see it," Ezio agrees, frowning and then looking away. "I visit Monteriggioni periodically – the next time I do… you're welcome to join me, of course. I will take you to the Sanctuary personally."

"That's all I need," Desmond says and glances towards the kitchen. "Thank you for taking this as well as you did."

Ezio snorts, obviously disagreeing. "I need to think," he murmurs. "And write to my sister – ah. Here."

Desmond looks back at him – and then at the bag of money he's holding out to him. "Um –"

"You said you needed money – I have it aplenty. I will also settle your debt with Leonardo," Ezio promises. "Take it, and keep the children in comfort."

Desmond can feel all the gold in the bag. Enough of it to cover the whole city block in his Domain. "Thanks," he says, accepting the bag. "I'll – I'll do that."

Ezio nods, and lifts his hood back up. He looks at Desmond for a moment, eying the lines on his face – but he doesn't ask. "I'll come to see them tomorrow," he says. "Fortune willing."

"We'll be here," Desmond agrees and hides the money purse under his robes. "Actually, before you go, do you mind if I check something?" he asks, lifting his hand and wiggling his fingers a little.

"Hm?" Ezio asks and then stays very still as Desmond touches his chin, analysing first the residue on his skin, the then layers of skin, then the flesh and blood and bone underneath, checking for ailments,

"The twins had syphilis, and considering your history…" Desmond says distractedly and then frowns. "How are you this _clean_?"

"I'm sorry?" Ezio asks, sounding too taken aback to even be offended. "Wait, they _have syphilis_?"

"They _had_. I fixed it."

Weird. Ezio should be swimming in sexually transmitted _everything,_ but there's nothing. Not syphilis, not even herpes, nothing. Either he's got miraculously strong immune system or… "Let me guess," Desmond says, not sure if he's impressed or disappointed, and drops his hand. "You can use your gift to see when women aren't… safe."

Ezio coughs. "Well," he says, a little embarrassed.

Desmond shakes his head. "Well, you're healthy as a horse," he says. "Congratulations."

"Thank you?" the Assassin offers, looking between Desmond's face and his gold fingered hand. "How do you do that?"

Desmond snorts. "Magic," he answers wryly. "Now go on, get out of here. And maybe think about what to name twin girls."

Ezio nods slowly, watching him thoughtfully. "I will think of something," he says, glancing at the kitchen one last time. "Desmond."

"Ezio," Desmond nods, and watches the Assassin slink out of the door, disappearing into the sparse crowd of Campo San Stin. Moment later, he's out of sight, a white shadow lost in a crowd.

Desmond sighs and then turns to head back inside – back to his kids.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer on science. I don't science.

"Is it everything you need?"

Desmond looks through all the things Leonardo had brought him. The guy is really a godsend – which, considering it's him speaking, might be a bit ironic, but still. He got everything, all the minerals, all the chemicals, metals, glass, everything. "Looks like it is, thank you Leonardo," Desmond says, running his hand over the little cups full of mostly dust.

"What are you going to make with them?" Leonardo asks interestedly.

"Among other things? Medicine," Desmond answers and then looks down at Giovanna and Matteo, who are peering over the edge of the table at the gathered stuff. "Do you two need chairs?"

"Yes please," Giovanna says quickly, and with a laugh Leonardo pushes the kitchen chairs closer so that they can look at the counter. Desmond lifts Matteo up on one while Giovanna climbs to another, and then checks that the twins are still sleeping in the pram – which they are, and judging by the feel of it will be a while longer.

Leonardo looks between him and the cups and then strokes his beard. "Messere, I don't want to make myself a nuisance, but…" he looks longingly at the table and its arrangement of ingredients. "I would so very dearly want to learn what it is you do."

"I did kind of figure," Desmond muses with a snort and considers the ingredients. "Okay, it's… kind of complicated, but the basic is," he holds out a hand and makes a hologram over it – much to Leonardo's almost giddy excitement. "Behold, an atom, basic building block of the universe. Everything you see – aside from light – is made of these things. Hydrogen, helium," the atom hologram changes, growing . "Lithium, Beryllium, and so on. The more stuff in an atom, the more complicated the element is. Everything is made of this stuff. Sun, moon, stars, Earth and all the things on it. Including this stuff." He motions to the cups. "Which I have the means to manipulate. Can you hand me the glass?"

Leonardo quickly hands him the larger cup, which is full of glass shards, his eyes almost shining with eagerness.

"You put atoms together, you get molecules, you put molecules together, you get compounds and mixtures and all sort of complicated nonsense. Like say, glass," Desmond says, waving a hand over the glass and then taking a few shards in hand. "What I do is basically… cheating. Chemical reactions and atom reshuffling by means of radiation and some other stuff. I take those structures already present, and with the power of my mind, basically, I reshape them. Like so."

In the palm of his hands he melts the glass and then forms it into a shape of a test tube, pulling the glass up and forming a perfect cylinder out of it. "Voila."

"Is there no limit to what you can reshape?" Leonardo asks, taking the tube as Desmond hands it over.

"There's limits. I need to be in contact with the thing I'm changing – same with these," Desmond motions to the hologram hovering over his hand. "Can't change anything across the city. Hence the gold stuff in the house, I can use it to widen my range," he nods to the circuitry on the floor. "That's mumbo jumbo nonsense that you don't have to worry about, but the science it's based on is solid, and anyone can understand that stuff. Chemistry is like… basis of most everything, in… existence."

"Magic," Giovanna whispers, while Matteo leans his chin to the edge of the table, his eyes wide.

"You don't mean alchemy, do you?" Leonardo asks.

"Depends which Alchemy you mean. If it's the middle eastern sort, I'm with you, they got a head start on everyone there. If it's the stuff that includes astrology, forget about it," Desmond says. "Let's just stick to chemistry. Atoms, elements, compounds, chemicals, yadda yadda yadda – with no faith, no belief, no mystical mumbo-jumbo involved."

"Except for what you do," Leonardo points out, giving him a look.

"Yes, except for that, let's forget about that," Desmond says and makes another test tube. "What I'm doing here isn't in any way different than what a glass blower could do – it uses the exact same forces and reactions, I just cheat and make it with precise application of radiation and electromagnetism, and don't produce any waste product heat. It's cheating on my part, but the process is the same. You see?"

"I think I do," Leonardo says.

"But papa, you make stuff glow – you're making yourself glow," Giovanna says, making a face. "That's magic."

"She has a point," Leonardo actually points at her. "There is no process I could do which would replicate it."

"There is, if you had technology advanced enough – but that's stuff we're not talking about," Desmond says firmly.

"But –"

"Shush, not talking about it. Watch me make a microscope now."

"A what?"

Desmond picks and chooses among the elements Leonardo had got for him, calculating sums. He can do with just glass and metal if he needs to, but he kind of wants to make a cheaty version of a microscope, which will actually have a light so it could be used properly – couple of mirrors and the microscope could use sunlight as light source, which is probably safer than remaking electronics and LED lights from nothing. Never mind that the glass needs to be a little more complicated than what he used to make the test tubes – and the test tubes are only good enough for his purposes because he has no intention of heating them up. He would have to make sturdier ones later, but for now… most of the material would go into making the microscope.

Desmond makes a little pile of stuff and then concentrates, sinking his fingers into it and concentrating on Believing, on Knowing and Trusting that someone one day would invent a Microscope, that there'd be hundreds of variations, and one of them could very well be made of the materials he has – that it's in the shape of the dust and scattered bits and random foodstuff, it's imbedded somewhere in their future and he can _grasp it_ and use it. It could happen – very few things have a pure 0% probability. Universe is just crazy enough that it _could_ be possible.

And so, Desmond Believes that he can make a perfectly working microscope, and so it makes itself for him under his fingers, guided along by the radiation emanating from him and the Faith he has in construction.

And then he has a microscope.

"Ta-daah," Desmond says while Leonardo, Giovanna and Matteo stare at the thing confusedly. "And now I shall blow your mind with cells."

"With _what_?" Leonardo and Giovanna ask together.

Desmond makes a set of glass slides and then wipes a droplet of water off one of the cups and smears it between the slides, slotting it in place on the microscope. "Go put it on a window sill so that sunlight can hit the mirror on the back and then look through here," he points. "Have fun. _Don't break it_."

It's hilarious to see Leonardo jockeying for position at the microscope with Giovanna and silently urgent Mateo, but it keeps them distracted long enough for Desmond to finish making the rest of the stuff he needs for his heretical science laboratory in the Renaissance time.

Desmond lines up a row of syringes and then looks over what he made. "Now I just need all the diseases," he murmurs, stroking at his chin. "Leonardo, do you think people would accept money for a little bit of bloodletting?"

"Bloodletting?" Leonardo asks. "You want to have your blood drained?"

"Not mine, _theirs_ – I want to find people with some diseases and get samples of their blood," Desmond answers. "I'm probably going to need a lot of them. Oh, and I need bread, I need mouldy bread."

The look Leonardo gives him is completely baffled, and he's already mouthing at a confused question, when there's a knock on the door. Desmond looks over the kitchen and then grabs his gloves before going to open. Hopefully it wouldn't be another nosy neighbour coming to complain about something or other.

It's not.

Instead on his doorstep stands a white-clad Assassin with the high noon sun hot at his back and what looks like a present under his arm – at least, it's wrapped like one.

"Ezio," Desmond says with surprise. "I didn't think you'd be coming along this early in the day – come in," he steps aside. "Never mind the mess – we're doing science."

"What?" Ezio asks, stepping in and pushing his hood back – at which point, Leonardo spots him.

"Ezio! Come, see this most marvellous thing – did you know there are things _moving_ in water?" Leonardo says excitedly. "Tiniest creatures, far too small for human eye to see, which are _living_ life so small we are not even aware of it!"

"Er," Ezio answers, looking bewildered. "What?"

Desmond claps him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the madhouse," he says and steps ahead of Ezio to the kitchen – just in time to stop Mateo from swiping a cup from the table and eating the almonds in it. "No, no, no eating my only source of potassium, I need that. Also, look, your father is here."

Ezio stands by the kitchen door, looking a little wide-eyed at the madness. Definitely not what he was prepared to see, considering how simply his first meeting with the family had gone, Desmond thinks with amusement, but there's no helping it anymore. They're gone off the deep end now.

Giovanna gives him a suspicious look before snatching the microscope from Leonardo and peering into it. "Eww," she says. "What are those wiggly things?"

"Probably bacteria or other microorganisms. Teeny tiny creatures," Desmond clarifies. "Fun stuff, we're all covered in it – and it's mostly what makes us sick, isn't that lovely?"

"It's _disgusting_! It's _wriggling_."

"I know, right?"

"Um," Ezio says a little uneasily, while Desmond holds Mateo against his hip and lets the kid have one of the almonds – but no more, he really needs the potassium in them for later – and then shakes his head. "You look busy, perhaps I should come – later."

"No, now is as good a time as any," Desmond says. "If you want quiet, later is probably better. Daytime it's kind of always like this – with or without Leonardo making everything worse around here."

"I am the soul of a gracious guest," Leonardo says. "And I brought you elements!"

"Which I am grateful for, and also I paid you," Desmond says, rolling his eyes and smiling at Ezio.

"What is it that you're doing?" Ezio asks, shaking his head with bewildered curiosity.

"Science," Desmond says.

"Alchemy," Leonardo says, gleeful.

"Magic!" Giovanna shouts and Matteo sticks an almond in his mouth and snaps it in half with his front teeth with a loud click.

Ezio's brows arch at them all. "Alright, that sounds… fascinating," he says, sounding mostly just confused himself. "I brought you something – for the children. Is that alright? Giovanna and Matteo – here, I brought this for you."

Giovanna and Matteo both look mostly confused by the awkwardly wrapped parcel being offered to them. Matteo frowns in concentration like by staring at it hard enough he will figure out what it is, while Giovanna looks a little suspicious, like she thinks it might be a trap. They both look at Desmond for guidance.

"Let's have a look, shall we?" Desmond says, letting Matteo down again and holding a hand out to Giovanna, who unhappily leaves the microscope by the window. Leonardo doesn't, to his credit, immediately hog it – instead he watches with great interest as Ezio crouches down awkwardly to offer the gift to Giovanna and Matteo. They look at it like they're not sure what to do with it.

"You're meant to unwrap it, sweethearts. It's a gift," Desmond says – making a mental note to get the kids more gifts in the future. "Your father is giving it to you – what's in it is going to be yours." He really hopes it's nothing dangerous though, it would be a bummer having to confiscate it.

It takes a bit more prodding before Giovanna and Matteo dare to tear into the parcel, tugging the cheap cloth off it and then revealing the items inside.

There is a set of wooden toys, sort of armless human shapes, with awkwardly made clothes and simple faces. There is a sort of soft doll, made of linen – definitely some kind of a baby toy. And then there's set of spinning tops with five sides each and markings on the side.

"I didn't know what kind of toys you would like, so…" Ezio says awkwardly while the kids poke through their haul of toys, testing them and tugging at their clothing. Desmond reaches curiously at one of the spinning tops and gives it a quick wind – it's a bit rough-looking, but it spins steadily.

"Ooh, I like that one, that one's mine!" Giovanna says and snatches the top up.

"Then the other one is your brother's," Desmond says and holds it out to Matteo. "Have a try, honey."

The kids spend a moment poking and prodding the toys and testing how well they stand and, in the case of the spinning tops, spin, and though Giovanna still gives Ezio some looks, he's definitely earned himself some brownie points. Not bad, not bad at all.

Leonardo is watching them with a thoughtful look, amused and a little bit wistful all at once – though whether it's because of the kids or because of _Ezio_ specifically with the kids… who knows. Desmond won't be the asshole asking.

"What?" Ezio asks, obviously noticing the look.

"Nothing – just wondering what your mother would think, seeing you now," Leonardo says and grins. "I think she would be very surprised."

Ezio looks down, the line of his lips tightening and Desmond wonders – does Leonardo not know? You'd think Ezio would have told him about how Maria is, but… then, it's the Renaissance. People tend to cover family ailments, especially when they're ones of the mind. It's kind of sad but… yeah, sadly Desmond can see it happening, Ezio keeping those sad family secrets to himself.

How much guilt does the guy carry, really?

"Well," Desmond says and ruffles Matteo's hair. "I think it's time we take a break from science and have playtime instead. It looks to be a lovely day outside too, so – let's move this to the garden."

Giovanna is the first there, gathering her toy soldier and hurrying outside to begin building the fortress, explaining to Matteo that "Now we have invaders, and Gemma can be up here and Tito is going to rescue her and…" Which Matteo goes along with because he always does, eager audience to his big sister's more elaborate plays.

Desmond pushes the twins' carriage outside to the shade of the vine trellis, while Leonardo and Ezio join him, by the bench there.

"Is this garden yours as well?" Ezio asks.

"It was a lucky purchase," Desmond agrees.

"The property was damaged in the floods, so no one much wished to buy it – we bought it for cheap," Leonardo says and then explains all the things that were wrong with the place, while Desmond watches the kids. They've turned a whole corner of the garden into a sort of play area, and Desmond is kind of considering trying to get a sandbox for them. It's probably another not strictly speaking time-appropriate thing for the Renaissance, but he can just imagine Giovanna building sand castles and moats.

The garden overall isn't huge – it's only about a size of a room. And most of its flooring is made of stone with only sections of dirt for planting mostly decorative things. It was in disrepair – still is, really – but the kids have pulled most of the twigs and weeds out by now, and new things are growing from the dirt. Desmond is thinking of trying to plant something edible in them, just for fun. In the Golden City, 90% of the plants were edible – sad side effect of apocalypse and irradiation, people picked and choose what they cultivated and flowers got beaten up by food.

Flowers could be nice. What Desmond really misses, though, are tomatoes. Wonder when those would be brought back to the Old World. He can, with the ingredients, whip up a decent pizza or a burger – which he has done too, admittedly by cheating – but it's just not the same without tomato sauce.

"… what was it that you were doing before?" Ezio asks, casting a glance at Desmond.

"Hm? I was making scientific equipment and the kids –" Desmond motions at Leonardo, "Were playing with it."

"I might not be as old as you, Messere Desmond, but I am no spring chicken," Leonardo says.

"From my perspective, you're all young," Desmond muses and folds his arms. "In either case, it's in preparation for making medicine and vaccines for the kids. I want to immunise them as well as I can."

"I'm sorry?" Ezio asks, frowning. "I don't know those words."

"It's," Leonardo says and wiggles his fingers in a very mystical sort of motion.

Desmond rolls his eyes. "It's _not_ magic," he says. "Have either of you had chicken pox?"

They blink, Ezio casting a very confused look at Leonardo to see if he understands it. Leonardo shrugs. "I had it when I was seven," the artist says.

"I was six, I think," Ezio agrees, frowning.

"And having had it, neither of you expect to have it again, yes?" Desmond asks and they shrug and nod confusedly. "That's because you build up immunity to it – having had it, your bodies learned to fight it, and now you won't ever have to worry about catching chicken pox again. With right medicine you can get that same immunity to other diseases – without having to suffer the actual disease to get the immunity. But to make those kinds of medicine, I need equipment, hence," he motions towards the house. "The science."

"I have never heard of such things," Ezio says, frowning.

"I think I have," Leonardo murmurs. "I heard it discussed once, how the Chinese take scabs from victims of a pox and had a patient breathe it in, in order to make them resilient against it."

"Variolation," Desmond nods. "Scabs from cowpox to make you immune to smallpox. Probably not hundred percent effective, but it's the same concept."

"I'm sorry – you mean to do that to the children?" Ezio asks, sounding a little alarmed.

"No, not precisely," Desmond says. "I will use injection. Not anytime soon, granted, I will have to make the vaccines first and that will take time. But eventually. It's safe, don't worry – I have no intention of hurting them. I don't have any intention of letting them die of diseases I can prevent, though."

"Like syphilis?" Leonardo asks.

"Syphilis, sadly, doesn't have vaccine, not that I know of. It's annoying that way," Desmond says with a sigh. "But I'll work on antibiotics while I'm at it, just in case."

Ezio shakes his head and looks at Leonardo. "Do you understand what he's saying?"

"Sometimes," Leonardo says with a laugh.

Desmond waves a hand. "Never mind," he says and looks towards Giovanna and Matteo. They've built up a new type of castle for rescue operations. "In either case, I am going to make sure these kids live very long and healthy lives."

Ezio glances at him and then looks at Giovanna and Matteo and then lowers his eyes. Desmond glances at him from the corner of his eye, eying his expression – uneasy, guilty and, dare he say, a little bit self-doubtful. Hmm.

"Have you thought of names for the twins?" Desmond asks to change the subject and looks to the pram. The twins are about to wake up – the nappies need cleaning too, and if the empty bellies wouldn't wake them, then the wet feeling would.

Ezio clears his throat. "I couldn't begin to decide," he says and looks up. "I'm not sure I have the right."

"Ezio..." Leonardo says sympathetically.

"They're your kids, Ezio," Desmond says. "Name them."

Ezio leans forward, clasping his hands awkwardly. He stares at them and then looks up to the pram. "I thought… Federica and Pietra," he says and then looks at Desmond. "But… you have been with them more than I probably ever will."

Leonardo looks at the garden floor, smiling sadly, if somewhat awkwardly.

"Hmm," Desmond answers, giving Ezio a look. They'll see about that. "Pietra and Federica," he says and stands up, looking over the pram and then gently easing the cover off the twins to get access to their nappies to clean them with a Prayer. "Which is which?"

Ezio stands up and comes to his side, to look at the sleeping babies. They're pressed side to side, and somehow one of them had ended up holding the fingers of the others, grasping them in her fist. "Federica," Ezio says, tentatively touching the hair of that child. "And Pietra," he motions to the other.

Desmond looks between him and the infants and nods. "That sounds good," he says. "Now if you want them baptised, that's a different thing."

"If – you're not against it," Ezio says, looking at him. "I would have it done in the chapel of Monteriggioni. It wouldn't be for a while yet, not for months, but…"

Desmond takes in his expression. "Sounds good to me," he says. "I wouldn't even know where to begin here."

Ezio smiles faintly at that and strokes the backs of his fingers over Pietra's hair. "Thank you," he says, testing the baby's soft strands of dark hair between his fingers. "Thank you for letting me name them."

"Like I said, they're your kids," Desmond says. And he shouldn't be naming things, really. Things have tendency of getting a certain… golden hue, when he gives them names. "And Federica and Pietra are good names."

Ezio swallows and nods.

"I think I have left some work at my shop," Leonardo says and bounces to his feet. "I think it best I get to it. I hope to see more science in the future – I would especially like to know how that microscope was constructed, it was… beyond anything."

"You don't know the half of it," Desmond snorts. "See you, Leonardo."

"Messere Desmond," the artist says, nodding. "Ezio."

"Leonardo," Ezio answers, only glancing momentarily at him and then turning to look at the children again, looking spellbound by them.

Desmond smiles. "They're about to wake up," he says. "Do you mind watching them and Giovanna and Matteo while I prepare bottles for them?"

"Um – is that alright?" Ezio asks worriedly. "I am not sure…"

"So as long as no one ends up in the canal, I'll be satisfied," Desmond says and pats his shoulder. "Just make sure Giovanna and Matteo don't hurt themselves and that the twins are comfortable and don't get cold or anything. I'm sure you'll do fine."

"Alright, I will… sit with the twins," Ezio says and sits back down on the bench, as close as he can to the pram. "With Federica and Pietra," he adds quietly, saying the names with quiet, private joy.

Desmond smiles, taking in the image he makes, the scary and intimidating Assassin in his fancy gear and all his weaponry – peering into a baby pram like it holds the most precious thing in the world. Which in truth… it might.

He wonders how much it would cost to hire Leonardo – or one of his apprentices – to paint a picture of Ezio with the children? Probably more than Desmond has. And he doubts Ezio would ever sit down for a painting like that anyway, all things considered. Can't have Assassins recorded in history. Pity.

It would've been a masterpiece.


	11. Chapter 11

"There you go, isn't that better?" Desmond murmurs to Pietra, who is just finishing her second in-the-middle-of-the-night bottle, smacking her little toothless gums at him. Running a hand over her side, Desmond has a feel of her systems, but it doesn't feel like she swallowed any air, so he sets the bottle down and then holds her in his arms for a moment, until she starts drooping sleepily again.

Federica is only half-awake when Desmond lays Pietra down beside her in their crib, and the twins begin settling down immediately once they sense each other. Desmond runs fingers through their hair, doing automatic check of everything, but… everything seems to be coming along nicely.

No lingering issues from the syphilis, no infections, not a hint of anything being wrong. Of course he'd be aware if there was, while they're in the crib or in the pram they're constantly being monitored by the circuitry, so, he'd know if something was going awry. That doesn't quite shake the need to constantly be checking that they're happy and breathing and their little hearts are beating strongly.

Even cheating doesn't shake some parental instincts and fears. Nor do three hundred years, apparently – the longer Desmond is with these kids and with Giovanna and Matteo… the more human he feels. There's a visceral vulnerability to all of them that he can't do anything about. Pietra might swallow the milk down the wrong pipe, or Federica might somehow turn over in her sleep and end up suffocating herself in her bedding, and what could he do? Matteo could fall into a canal and drown and Giovanna might hurt herself with a rusty nail and get goddamn tetanus, and…

"Shit," Desmond murmurs. So much for immortal god king – parenthood turns even the likes of him into terrified messes, huh? And there is no way he could at this point shove this responsibility onto someone else, to Ezio's family – that would just make him more scared.

After checking that Giovanna and Matteo are sleeping fine – they've taken over half of his bed again, sleeping spread eagle across it – Desmond heads out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, taking a seat by the dining table with a sigh. The actual dining room had been turned into a sort of mixture of playroom and workroom – it's where he works with Leonardo's designs, and where Giovanna and Matteo make delightful nuisances of themselves. The kitchen is sizable enough, and the side door from there leads directly into the garden, which makes it the most used room in the house, really.

Now he alone is awake in the house, and running a hand over his bearded chin Desmond almost feels the day's activities evaporating. It's easy to feel… _young_ with kids around, and Leonardo helps with that too, the man has a very young spirit. Desmond doesn't, though.

Nights like these, he just feels old. Old and stranded in this tiny Domain, which by rights shouldn't even exist. Everything he does here is risky. None of it does anything to prevent the future. Now that Ezio is aware of the kids, Desmond should start working on other things, on preparing… Except he doesn't really want to.

Is it selfish at his age, to want to keep things as they are?

Leaning his elbows on the table, Desmond turns to look outside. It's dark, but the moon and stars are out, and the kitchen window has a view to the canal. It's not a big canal, Rio de San Stin, it's crowded like most of them, but there's enough space there for the light to screen down onto the murky waters, and reflect off them. It's beautiful.

Desmond should be planning a message, but instead he wonders if tomorrow would be a nice day to have a walk around the city. There are a lot of places in Venice they haven't visited yet, and Desmond should be teaching the kids the power of normal human engineering and building – how impressive the palazzos and cathedrals are, considering that someone had to shape all those stones and put them all in place by hand… Giovanna and Matteo are going to grow up to have a very messed up view when it comes to production, at this rate.

Maybe there's a building site somewhere in Venice he could show them. That could be a good lesson.

Desmond leans his chin on his palm, staring at nothing in particular and getting lost in thought, wondering what the indulgent masses of the Golden City would have thought of Venice. Not a bit of Faith had gone into building the city, but it's more impressive than the High Temple District of the Golden City ever was. The people of Golden City would have probably been incredulous about the place – doubtful that it could ever be built without the power of Faith. How messed up is that?

Rubbing his thumb against his fingers, Desmond opens his eyes slowly as he feels something approaching. Something familiar.

Ezio is moving about the city.

The Assassin had kept his word and came to see the kids once every day – by the fourth day, Desmond had to put an end to the gift giving. As much as the kids appreciated the toys, and it was always delight to see them receive them, there's a thin line of being nice to the kids and spoiling them – and Giovanna and Matteo already have privileges other kids will never have because of Desmond. Some restraint is called for.

Poor Ezio looked like he'd shot the man's dog, but he'd listened – he'd been disappointed, but promised not to fill the house with every kind of toy he could find in Venice.

Desmond smiles a little, following Ezio with his senses. He's moving slowly, meandering – moving over the rooftops, it feels like. Doesn't feel like he's in any urgent hurry.

Ezio was still a little awkward with the kids, and Giovanna was still a little narrow-eyed about him, though Desmond thinks she no longer fears that Ezio might swoop in to steal them away, at least. Ezio is trying, and that counts for a lot – he doesn't know what he's doing and the whole thing makes him so sad and guilty at times… but he's trying. That's something.

In other circumstances, Ezio would've been a great dad. Well, he still might be.

Desmond closes his eyes and then frowns. Ezio is still coming towards, his approach still a bit meandering and slow, but he's making his way towards them. Going to see Leonardo, maybe?

Desmond waits in the dark kitchen, until Ezio stops and, no, he's not gone to see Leonardo. He's on the rooftop of Desmond's house and he's not moving.

After another moment of wait, while Ezio doesn't move, Desmond stands up from the kitchen table and then moves to the door leading to the garden, opening it silently and stepping out, the shadows almost pitch-black under the vine trellis.

Ezio's silhouette is stark against the night sky as he crouches there, on the corner of the rooftop.

"Is something the matter?" Desmond asks quietly.

Ezio doesn't answer immediately, jerking with slight surprise and turning his hooded head downwards to look at him. "Did I wake you?"

Desmond frowns. The guy's voice… "No, I was already awake – I had to feed the twins. Are you alright?"

Ezio teeters on the edge of the rooftop for a moment and then swings down, landing on the stone floor of the garden path silently like a cat. He doesn't look hurt or wounded, but – ah.

"You're drunk," Desmond comments.

"A little," Ezio says, and it's remarkable how steady he is, as he moves to sit on the bench. "Didn't want to wake you up. I just – I wanted to…" he trails away and collapses on the bench. "Shit – I don't know."

"I see," Desmond says, eying him and wrapping his arms around himself, wishing he'd put on more than just his night shirt. It's not a warm night. "Well, if you need a place to sleep, there's a whole bedroom that's not in use."

"No – no – it's okay," Ezio says, leaning his elbows to his knees and not looking at Desmond – trying to look unaffected? Something like that, it looks like – though he is affected by something. He's drunk and he's not happy.

Quietly, Desmond moves to his side and sits down, rubbing his gold-fingered hands over his arms. "It's a beautiful night," he comments. "Excellent night for partying."

"So I thought," Ezio mutters, clasping his gloved hands and twisting at his fingers almost angrily. "Shit," he mutters again. "I was at the brothel, I was going to – I meant to have a night of it. Food, wine, pleasure. But then I thought – then I remembered…" he lifts his head and glances towards the kitchen door.

Desmond snorts. "Having kids doesn't mean you don't get to have fun, Ezio. Just try not to make _more_ , my hands are already full."

Ezio lets out a strangled sort of laugh. "That's… that's not it," he murmurs and then looks down, scowling at his own hands, twisting them. Then he looks at Desmond. "Why do you do it? Take care of my kids – why do you do it?"

 _Because they're your kids_ , Desmond thinks and leans back – regretting it immediately. The garden's only bench is against a wall, and the wall is _cold_. He's not prone to back pain anymore, thanks to the Faithful's last Prayer for him – but damn, his body still remembers it.

"At first it was because I thought it would be right – and nice – thing to do," Desmond says. "I know how much your family has lost, and…"  how long it took for Ezio to intentionally have children and how sad he was about how little time it left him with them, "I thought it would be… nice."

"And now?" Ezio asks, turning his head to look at him from under the shadows of his hood.

Desmond shrugs. "I suppose I love those kids now," he murmurs and sighs. "Not exactly the sort of way I expected to spend my last years on this Earth, but… I think I prefer it like this."

Ezio pulls at his fingers, deep in drunken thought for a moment. Then he pulls his gloves off and spreads out his hands. Desmond gives his left hand a look – no brand, yet. He hasn't been conducted into the Brotherhood, which means the Apple isn't in the picture yet.

It feels like it's not far off now, though.

"I've killed… so many people," Ezio murmurs. "I didn't think – I didn't expect… I can't raise _anything_ with these hands. I only bring things down."

"You're young," Desmond says with a sigh. "There's time."

Ezio shakes his head and squeezes his hands into fists. "Leonardo things you can move through time, sail it like you can sail across the sea in an instant. Is that true?"

Desmond glances at him. He could deny it, but… "I did, once," he says and looks away. "To do it again I'd have to build a machine that I would rather kill myself than build."

Ezio watches him for a moment, his eyes a little bleary but still sharp. "You know things. You are _capable_ of things I can't even understand…" he says and shakes his head. "Why are you here with my children? Why _my children_? Why are they special?"

Desmond sighs and doesn't answer, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the cold wall behind him.

"I suppose I shouldn't ask – I should be grateful to have such powerful guardian for my children," Ezio murmurs. "I wouldn't even know I have them without you, but…" he trails off and hangs his head, running hands over his face. "I understand so _little_."

"Like I said, you're young. It'll come to you," Desmond says.

"Why not just tell me?"

Because Ezio and Leonardo, and through them probably other people, are already getting too much from him – and Desmond can already feel their _Belief_ , lingering like vapour around him. Giovanna and Matteo believe in him, but it's a child's natural faith towards their parent, it's sweet, but it's also transient. Leonardo, on the other hand, is becoming _Faithful,_ which already turns Desmond's stomach. Ezio is threatening to follow.

And Desmond really doesn't want to see that happen.

"Some things you should learn on your own – not because I don't want to tell you. But because… you shouldn't be affected by my Belief," Desmond says and looks at Ezio. "When I say things I Believe in, they're very easy for people to believe too, no matter what they think or want. Don't worry though, you're not so far off now, I think. You'll get it, soon."

Ezio blows out a breath. "I hate that," he murmurs. "I'd rather you tell me."

"I'd rather not manipulate you, if that's all the same. Find out on your own, please, form your own opinions," Desmond says. "Now, do you want to sleep here or not?"

Ezio bows his head and doesn't answer immediately, the silence stretching as he stares at his own hand. "Today I could've lied with a beautiful woman who sincerely wanted me," he mutters. "And all I could think was that I wanted to come here. I think I've already been manipulated."

"Yeah, by your own damn self," Desmond snorts and gives him a look. "Difference between instant gratification and lasting happiness. I'm thinking you're starting to figure out which one you want more."

Ezio looks up, his lips a thin, unhappy, uncertain line.

"But let me guess," Desmond says. "You have revenge to carry out. You can't have nice things until you do. Hm?"

"Tch," Ezio says and leans back, his armour making a soft _thonk_ against the wall behind them. "You know everything, don't you?"

"Nah," Desmond says. "But I know the feeling of having to carry out a duty at the cost of everything else. Can't do anything as permanent as settling down or trying for something that makes you actually content – no, you've got a job to do. So you get instant gratification out of whatever you can, and push the nagging feeling of _wanting something more_ to the back of your head, because… you have work to do and you don't have time for that."

Ezio looks at him with a frown. "What did you do?"

"I built," Desmond says and shakes his head. "I built and I built and I built. And in the end, what I created ended up monstrous."

And here he is now, building again, despite his better intentions.

They sit in silence for a moment, the Assassin staring at the darkened garden while Desmond lets his eyes close, wishing he still didn't see the circuitry behind his eyelids, the ley lines that formed the massive network of the Golden City. Part of him still misses it – part of him can still _feel_ it, like the place somehow still exists, somewhere, and he's still connected to it.

What would've happened if he had died there, shot, his lifeblood bleeding into the very heart of the city's circuitry? He thinks it would have drained him dry, body and soul – his blood would have ran into the network, and his mind would have been trapped in that spiderweb, eternally trapped in the machine he'd built.

Maybe in some universe that's exactly what happened – and like Juno before him, he became a prisoner of his own creation.

Yeah. Desmond much prefers the life here, as small and insignificant as it is.

"Do you know what will happen?" Ezio asks quietly. "Will I get my revenge?"

Desmond shakes his head. "Can't tell you that. But you will learn things," he says. "And some things will begin making sense."

"That is not much."

"It's all I dare to give you," Desmond admits and sits up with a sigh. "I'm getting cold. Come on. You can sleep in Matteo's and Giovanna's room tonight – they're sleeping in my bed right now."

Ezio hesitates for a moment and then sighs and follows him inside, closing and locking the door after him quietly. Through the darkened house, Desmond shows Ezio to the room – though he already knew where it was, having visited it once or twice with the kids.

Both of the beds are made, if somewhat messy with the toys strewn about – it's starting to look like a real kid's room, even though the kids rarely sleep in it. Both Giovanna and Matteo have adult-sized beds, because Desmond didn't want to have to change them every few years… or however long they're staying here. In either case, they're both big enough for Ezio.

"Take whichever – neither has really been slept in. And if you throw up… do it out of the window maybe, and not inside," Desmond says, lighting a candle with a slight brush of his fingers and setting it on the table beside Giovanna's bed. "Do you think you're going to be here come morning?"

"Why?" Ezio asks.

"So that I know whether to make you breakfast or not," Desmond says with a smile and shrugs. "It's okay if you want to slink away, though you're going to have to do it before dawn if you want to escape Giovanna's notice. She wakes up with the sun."

"Delightful," Ezio says and pushes his hood back with a sigh, looking around. Then he looks at Desmond, who is starting to feel the tempting call of his own bed. "Desmond," he says quietly. "Who am I to you? Just the father of those children, or… something else?"

"What else do you think you are?" Desmond asks.

Ezio frowns a little. "I am an Assassin," he says. "And you are… whatever it is you are. Do you have any use for me?"

Desmond tilts his head a little, running a hand over the side of his neck. Whatever Ezio thinks he is aside… no, he doesn't really have a use for an Assassin. "You're Ezio," Desmond settles on says. "I don't need you to be anything else than that."

"Then it's the children?" Ezio says. "Are they the reason you're here?"

"Well, for now," Desmond says. "But why is anyone here, really?"

"I'm serious," Ezio says. "Whatever you are, a warlock or a witch or a… if you have no use for an Assassin, then – I don't understand."

Desmond looks at him, considering. "I'm not here for any particular purpose, Ezio. The most I want is to leave a message at Monteriggioni for someone to find in the future. Aside from that… I'm kind of at loose ends. Your children give me purpose and I love them. Can't that be enough?"

"Everyone wants _something_ from my family," Ezio says bitterly.

"I want you to be happy," Desmond says and shrug. "And I know you won't believe me, but right now that means more to me than anything else."

Ezio stares at him with eyes that glimmer with the gold of Eagle Vision and then he looks down, still uncertain and unhappy, but with a slight defeat to his posture. "Last time I had this, my father and brothers died," he murmurs.

"I promise you, I will rather turn the Earth upside down than let anything happen to those kids," Desmond says and moves to the door of the room. "You can rest easy where it comes to that. Nothing will kill those kids so as long as I'm watching over them."

Ezio swallows and then nods. "I believe you," he whispers.

"Good," Desmond nods. "Sleep well, Ezio. I'll see you in the morning."

Ezio nods again, running a hand over his face. "Good night Desmond."

Desmond nods and lets the still lingering confusion and shaky trust lie, unaddressed. Ezio is drunk, probably saying more than he would sober, he's not going to hold any of it against him. It is sad though, how much of his own insecurities and doubts the guy had smothered under charisma and devil-may-care attitude. No wonder he became so damn bitter when he grew older.

Keeping all this bottled up for so long, it's a wonder the guy didn't became worse, really.

Desmond heads back to his bedroom, where he checks the twins' crib and strokes fingers over their hair – all is well there – before crawling into his own bed. Matteo makes a sleepy noise of objection and Giovanna automatically squirms closer as Desmond settles behind them, wrapping one arm around both.

Around them, Desmond's Domain hums contently with his whole family safe and sound. Desmond closes his eyes and with a sigh lets his body rest.

Eventually, Ezio sleeps too – and if his eyes are wet, no one is to know.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for syringe usage, since some people might be squeamish about needles.

"And you will pay me for this?" the woman asks, giving Desmond a narrow, suspicious look. "Just for a bit of blood?"

"Bit of blood and maybe a bit of that," Desmond motions to the lesion on the back of her hand. "It looks like it's peeling off, so it shouldn't hurt to collect it. Full florin for both – and I promise neither will hurt."

"Hell, old man – that's a lot for a bit of bloodletting. Usually you have to pay for it, not get paid for it" the woman says and holds out her hand. "But let me see the florin first."

Desmond takes out a coin, and while she examines it suspiciously, Desmond takes a look at her hands. He's not sure what it is she has, not without touching her and analysing, but judging by the important shimmer she has, it's something he needs.

He's been going around Venice for most of the day, collecting samples of infected people to start cooking vaccines from – and it tended to go the same way. People were initially suspicious, but almost no one had turned down money – though few had balked a bit at the sight of his syringes. One mother had outright refused, though, when Desmond had asked to get a sample of her son's measles – mostly because she was in denial about him even having measles. Poor kid.

"Do you have children?" Desmond asks idly to distract the woman, while collecting samples of her lesions and putting them into sealed test tubes.

"Two daughters, yes," the woman says pleasantly. "Lovely little lambs, both of them. Why?"

"No, just asking out of curiosity. I have four children myself," Desmond says and puts the samples away, going for the antiseptic he'd made instead "Three girls and one boy. Could you give me your arm? And push up your sleeve."

"Kids? At your age?" the woman asks and gives a little chuckle while rolling up the sleeve of her simple dress. "You must be lively."

"They're not mine by birth, there are extenuating circumstances," Desmond says with a smile and wipes the area around the bend of her elbow once, and then once again. It doesn't look like she's washed herself in a while. "How old is your daughter?"

The chit chat distracts the woman enough so that when Desmond pulls out the syringe, she doesn't look too alarmed by it, just confused and a little curious. She watches closely as Desmond inserts the needle into her arm and then her eyebrows climb as Desmond collects the sample of her blood. What he'd also like would be to take a biopsy and maybe get a sample from her lymph nodes – but he's only starting out, and for now blood samples should already keep him busy for a while.

"And there we go," Desmond says and holds a swab of linen cloth against the puncture point while withdrawing the needle. "Hold that there for maybe five minutes and you're good to go."

"That's it?" the woman asks, eying her arm. "I thought you'd use a knife. That's what the doctor used the last I had a bloodletting."

"This is a little bit cleaner, isn't it?" Desmond asks, smiling. "Thank you very much for your help."

"So, what do you do with the blood?"

"Hopefully only good things," Desmond says and pats her shoulder just enough to do a quick analysis to see what she actually has. And oh thank god, _finally_.

"You work with cows?" Desmond asks while surreptitiously sanitising his hands with a Prayer.

The woman gives him a look. "Well, yes, we have a little farm, just north of Venice – we keep cattle. Eighteen cows. How did you know that?"

"You have cowpox," Desmond explains. "Looks like you're on the mend, and don't worry, it's not particularly infectious. But try and keep these clean, and maybe check the cows on your farm for lesions."

"Oh," the woman says and eyes her hands. "Oh, that's what it is. I just thought it was a rash, the doctor said not to worry about it."

"It'll pass on its own in about couple of weeks, but yeah, wash your hands more, maybe," Desmond says. "And thanks again for this, it's just what I –"

He stops, as a feeling like _bell going off_ sounds in his head. Immediately Desmond lifts his head and reaches for his Domain to check on the children.

The twins are fine – they're awake and one of them is letting out little emotional _puffs_ of childish amusement and joy. Leonardo is playing with them – there's a sense of colourful fluff in one of the twin's' face and she shrieks with happy baby laughter. Giovanna is there too, nearby, she's toying with the microscope Desmond had made for her, a little less delicate than the model he intends to use himself – she's inserting random things into slices and letting off _thrilled disgust_ of a child utterly fascinated by gross things. Matteo is playing with wooden blocks not far, making structures from them.

The family is fine, Leonardo is looking after them, his commitment to keeping them all content and safe a warm blanket of security over the house. It's not them that's alarming Desmond's senses, it's something else – something worse. Ezio?

Ezio is moving around in the city, he feels distracted and busy, but not urgently so – doing something with the thieves, it feels like, he's moving in company on the rooftops. Nothing too unusual there, probably a minor chore he's doing for coin. For all of his lavish living and ease in giving away money, he rarely turns down an opportunity to make more, no matter how small the task. Isu kinship to gold at its best, that.

What he feels is not Ezio either. Then _what_?

Desmond closes his eyes, ignoring the confused look the farmer's wife is giving him and concentrates. It doesn't take much – he knows this feeling all too well.

"… _Shit_ ," Desmond mutters.

The feeling is distant as he's never met the man, but he can still feel his genes. Mario Auditore has arrived in Venice, and judging by the feeling he's not the only one. La Volpe is with him, as is Paola of Florence and Machiavelli – they're travelling in company. Which can really only mean one thing.

It's almost time for the Apple of Eden to arrive in Venice.

* * *

 

The twins are asleep and Leonardo is serving Giovanna and Matteo some light dinner when Desmond comes back home, with a satchel full of blood samples he's now not sure he will have the time to do much anything with. He'll have to make a cold box to preserve them, or just go ahead and flip a finger at preserving history and make a whole freaking refrigerator.

He'd lost the track of time.

"Papa!" Giovanna shouts in greeting while Matteo flings himself off his chair and at Desmond. "You're back!"

"Welcome back, Messere Desmond," Leonardo says, smiling. "We were just about to eat dinner. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," Desmond says, picking Matteo up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Do you know where Ezio is, Leonardo, what he's up to?"

"I saw him this morning," Leonardo says. "He left some pages for me to decode, I was halfway through them when you asked me to visit."

The page with the Prophesy, likely. Desmond frowns and looks at the kids, indecisive.

"Papa?" Giovanna says. "Did you get the samples?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I did," Desmond says distractedly and smiles. "It'll have to wait for a bit, though – Leonardo? Could you go and… fetch the pages Ezio left with you?" he asks. "I'd like to have a look at them."

"I'm – not sure, Messere, they were left in confidence. I'm not sure Ezio would…"

"I know what they are, Leonardo – Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad's codex. I've read it – I would like to just check something in them," Desmond says with a frown and turns to his kids. "And you should try and decode them as soon as possible and get them to Ezio. Things are… moving again."

"Things are moving – what things?" Leonardo asks, worried and eager.

"Please, would you just get the pages?"

Leonardo hesitates, looking worried, but eventually he nods. "Very well, I will be right back." With that said, he hurries away.

"Papa? Is something wrong?" Giovanna asks.

Desmond crouches in front of her, Matteo still in his lap. "Not wrong, I just lost track of time, Giovanna. I didn't remember it was this soon," he admits and sighs, pulling Giovanna to him, hugging her and Matteo closer. "Chances are, we will be leaving Venice soon with Ezio. Probably not today, but within a week. I want you to be ready for it, alright?"

"I don't want to leave," Giovanna says, frowning even as she worms her way deeper into his arms. "Why do we have to leave?"

"Because some important stuff is about to happen, and your father is involved with it," Desmond murmurs. "I don't know what will happen with us, I don't… I just want you to be prepared to leave, alright? Please don't argue with me, sweetheart."

Giovanna presses her face against his chest, while Matteo clutches onto his robes, confused and serious. "Can we bring the microscopes with us?" Giovanna then asks plaintively.

Desmond chuckles. "I think we must. Come one, finish your dinner and then we'll see what we can do about packing all our important stuff nice and secure so that it will make it through the trip, alright?"

Desmond turns one of their chairs into a chest, and together with the kids they pack away the scientific equipment – including the blood samples, for which Desmond makes a self-cooling cold box in the style of Golden City's technology. Hopefully it would preserve the samples long enough for him to go properly through them and begin working on the vaccines – but if not, there's a chance he could collect more in Monteriggioni… or in Forlì, wherever they end up.

Shit, he didn't think this would come up so soon. He'd completely lost track of time – he thought there'd be at least months until now, maybe years, but…

It had been months, hadn't it. It's 1488 now. The year when Ezio got the Apple – and subsequently lost it too. The year he became the Prophet.

Running his hand over his face, Desmond tries to think of what to do, what his role in this should be. There's going to be a fight over the Apple – should he be there, or would that change things? Would changing things be bad, or good? Shit, he has no idea.

"Papa?" Giovanna asks worriedly, tugging at his robes.

"Never mind, honey," Desmond says and ruffles her hair and looks up as there's a knock on the front door. "That would be uncle Leonardo – why don't you two go play while we go through some papers."

"I want to go through some papers," Giovanna says insistently and Matteo tugs at Desmond's hand.

"It's not going to be terribly interesting, sweetheart."

They let Leonardo in, and he bustles into the house carrying a wad of papers. "These are all of my notes on the Codex," the man says, waving the papers. "And of course the pages Ezio brought me – he tends to take the originals once I am done translating them, says he puts them on a wall back in Monteriggioni."

"I just want to look at the pages you haven't translated yet," Desmond says.

"Oh, I have translated them – I simply haven't decoded the decryption yet," Leonardo says but hands the rolled up pages to him. "Here – the pages."

Desmond accepts them and then sits down by the kitchen table to read them. Giovanna and Matteo both worm their way into his lap to watch, but predictably they get bored soon after, as there's nothing but writing on the pages, and it's not writing even Giovanna can understand, though she has been learning a bit – old Arabic is nothing like Italian or Latin, after all.

So, though Desmond unintentionally put the house in a strange mood, they eventually get bored and squirm free to go play instead. Desmond glances after them to make sure they play safely within the house and don't head outside without supervision, and then turns back to the pages.

 _The Prophet will be revealed when the second Piece is brought to the floating city…_ The Prophecy is still the same – his inclusion into the timeline and to Ezio's life hasn't changed it. Ezio is still going to be the Prophet.

Desmond looks away from the pages, thinking. Does this mean the future is still the same? Ezio is still Prophet to 25-year-old Desmond Miles, and in a decade or so will receive Minerva's message for Desmond to see? All the things he's done, all the ways he's altered Ezio's life and family in – has none of it had any effect? Granted, he'd tried not to reveal too much too soon, and not just for the reasons of Faith and Belief but also because of that future, and yet…

Or is it just that the _past_ hasn't been changed, but the future has? Altaïr made his prophecies three centuries ago, maybe they were made for a future that no longer existed. Or… or the Prophecy has multiple interpretations. Which it does – it's not exactly _mathematically precise_ , is it? He must've seen some part of Minerva's plans to make it, but not the Calculations. Unless he had.

"Messere?" Leonardo asks worriedly.

Desmond blinks. "You should decode the pages and get them to Ezio."

"What's in them?" Leonardo asks. "I know there is something, the markings on the back, they indicate something, but –"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Desmond says. He had before. "Decode it and get it to Ezio, please – and don't tell him I know, not until after. I shouldn't be a part of this."

"Messere, what is this?" Leonardo asks, frowning as he accepts the codex pages back.

Desmond shakes his head. "You'll see soon enough," he says and gives Leonardo a look, wondering.

The man is golden markings short of a full Faithful – which should by right fuck up _all of history_. The guy's footprint on future is _massive_ , and what Desmond has done to him, unintentional or otherwise, should have changed a lot. Has it, though? Or will future just bounce back and cover it all up, brush aside Leonardo's Belief and only remember what he built and made and not what he now has learned?

Desmond doesn't know. How scary is that?

"Messere, please – you can trust me," Leonardo says, watching him warily. "What is going on?"

"We'll talk about it, after," Desmond says and stands up. "I need to tend to the twins now – Federica is about to wake up. Please, Leonardo… just do what I asked. _Please_."

It's a little upsetting to feel Leonardo's need to know being trumped by his Faith. "Of course," the polymath says and stands up. "I'll get the decoded pages to Ezio. But Messere – know that whatever this is, you have my support. Anything I can do to help…"

"Help Ezio," Desmond says. "That's enough." For now, anyway.

* * *

 

Desmond spends the rest of the day in a haze of worry and distraction. He's almost hyper aware of the Assassins moving about the city – they're gathering near the thieves' hideout, probably planning for the arrival of the Apple. How did they know it's coming, Desmond doesn't remember – something about a ship's manifest? But he remembers that they did know – they were all there when Ezio fought Rodrigo Borgia and got the thing for the first time. They were all expecting it – expecting _him_.

Knowing what's going on and not doing _anything_ about it is the hardest thing. Desmond could do something, he knows he could – but what, and how safe doing that thing would be… well, that's a different thing. Ezio had things well enough in hand the last time. Rodrigo Borgia had escaped, but then… that needed to happen for Ezio to have a reason to go to the Vatican, didn't it? And if the future is still going to _happen,_ then he would need to do that again, wouldn't he?

Except Desmond is here now, tentatively changing the past, so… so, what? He doesn't know. He just doesn't know. It's infuriating.

It's a very tense evening all around, and Giovanna and Matteo are aware of it. They go from worried to tense and then agitated – towards the end of the evening, Giovanna is sullenly angry about nothing in particular and refuses to play or tinker or do anything, and Matteo goes to sulk under the table – by which point Desmond figures he's gone too far. Only he doesn't know how to fix it. He can't pretend he's not worried because he is. He's fucking _terrified,_ and even the twins pick up on it, becoming cranky in a way they have never really been before, wailing at the atmosphere itself.

Desmond draws a slow breath and then decides, _enough_. He seriously needs to chill.

"Do you want to try something with papa?" he asks. "It's a little like magic, but it only works on you."

"Magic?" Giovanna asks and Matteo peers past chair legs at him. "But you said – "

"Well, it's not the shiny sort of magic, but it – helps," Desmond says with a nod to them to come closer, with the twins sitting in his lap, grabby and irritated. He clasps his hands loosely around the babies and smiles to the older kids. "It's called meditation – it helps you calm down when you're feeling bad or angry. Come here, I'll teach you."

They don't get the point of the meditation, of course not – they're kids – but Giovanna calms down a little, enough to try, and Matteo enjoys the concept of doing a mantra, humming with Desmond with all the serious determination of a three year old. Desmond himself keeps an eye on the kids enough to see it's having no negative effects on them, and then lets himself calm down and sink into himself and soothe his anxiousness.

It's been so long since he's truly had to worry about future this much, he'd forgotten how easily it can sweep you away. He'd never been a particularly anxious person, but when it did come to him, it tended to come in undeniable burst that kind of swept the rug from under his feet – and honestly… he's never had _this much_ to worry about. Even the end of the world was easier than this, that was just the death of everyone. It was just do or don't, two options, nice and easy – and he'd gone with the latter.

This, on other hand, is a crossing of thousands of possibilities, and he doesn't know which one might lead to disaster – and here he is, doing nothing… again.

Desmond drags a breath and wonders what it would do if he went out there, asked Leonardo to watch the kids for the night and… killed Rodrigo Borgia some dozen years ahead of time. Would that make the future better or worse? He has no damn idea.

"This is boring," Giovanna complains.

Desmond smiles a little and opens one eye. "I guess you're not cut out for magic then."

"You don't ever do _this_ , though, when you do magic. You just do it," she says irritably. "Why can't we just do that?"

"I don't do this because usually I don't need to – you need to have calm and orderly mind for it. Today papa is just a little… distracted," Desmond says with a sigh and lets the meditation slip away. The twins are a little calmer in his lap. Pietra is yawning, while Federica tugs at Desmond's fingers, scraping her little fingernails against the gold.

"Is it because father isn't here?" Giovanna asks.

Desmond frowns and then looks outside. It is getting late, and Ezio hasn't shown up. It's the first day since he found out about the kids that he's a no show. "I don't think he's going to come today, sweetheart," Desmond says quietly. "I don't think we'll see him for a few days."

Giovanna frowns, while Matteo looks alarmed. "Why not?"

"He's busy, honey," Desmond says. "He's got a lot to do." And once he'd be through with it, he probably wouldn't be terribly happy about Desmond not giving him any warning.

Well. What would happen, would happen, and at this point Desmond has no room to complain – he made his bed and he's gotten pretty used to lying in the beds he'd made… especially when they're not so comfortable to lie in. He's been sleeping in them for centuries now. He hasn't missed the feeling of regret over his own indecision, though. Not one bit.

Some things never change, huh. Old dog, old tricks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's have some real talk about Desmond's personality for a bit. I think a lot of people are expecting Desmond to bust out some epic ass-kicking in this fic, but that's not really what this fic is about? Desmond is powerful here, like, too powerful - and he's older and maybe wiser and he knows a lot of stuff... but underneath that, he's still the same Desmond Miles he was in the games (or that's at least what I'm trying to convey here). He's still got the same issues and same hangups, and Desmond's just not a very active personality. Like, he can be when pushed into it - but when he had his way in canon, he went off to become a bartender. He's go-with-the-flow zen sorta guy, but that's got its own problems - which is why I love him.
> 
> Desmond (in my opinion, you're free to disagree) is just not leadership material. He's not follower material either. He's sit-back-and-watch-things-happen sort of material. Destiny forced him to become a Chosen One, and it wasn't a very good fit. Here, it ended up with him as a dissociated godking in the future, and now slowly he's becoming anxious has-been-godking in the past, trying to not fall into the same habits he fell into in the future. But he keeps defaulting to old habits, because... old habits die hard. And he's *very* old.
> 
> Tldr; What do you get when you add immortality and cosmic powers to a fragile old human mind? Anxiety.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is how Ezio gets the Apple of Eden in case you haven't played/watched the games.](https://youtu.be/I5jIX5gf6UY)

_You cannot stop what was written!_

Rubbing his fingers over the still stinging brand on his fourth finger, Ezio watches Leonardo and the others examine the strange artefact they'd claimed. So much had happened in such a short time. The Spaniard, the Assassins… so many people who had stood in the shadows and hid their true nature from him. And now this device, and the prophecy that preceded it – and the title that came with it.

Prophet.

After ten years of what Ezio had thought was a lonely existence on a path led only by him, almost everyone he knew had proven out to have been in one way or another walking with him. Paola, La Volpe, Antonio, Theodora, Mario and this new character, Machiavelli – even Bartolomeo, who had not a single subtle bone in his body, even he was an Assassin. Ten years of what he thought was lonely existence, and it turns out perhaps he was never alone, after all. And not, he thinks, for revenge as he was – no, for this Prophecy. For this… treasure.

Ezio doesn't know what to think. Everything is moving so fast.

Leonardo is watching him, looking between him and the artefact, while uncle Mario and Machiavelli peer at the strange object. Ezio glances at him and then at the device – even now it is glowing with golden inner light. It's a very familiar shine – and judging by his expression, Leonardo sees it too, and he is troubled.

"What do you think, Leonardo?" Mario asks.

"Fascinating," Leonardo says and looks back at the device. "It's absolutely fascinating."

Ezio lowers his hand, pushing the sting of the burn aside. "Uncle Mario, what is this? Do you know?"

Mario looks at him and then at the device. "The Codex refers to it as a _Piece of Eden_ ," he says and motions to Leonardo. "I was hoping your friend could tell us more."

"I could no more explain this than explain to you how matter came into being," Leonardo says and crouches by the table to look at the device closely. "It's obviously a device of some kind, intentionally made, but I couldn't tell you how or when. It's obviously incredibly advanced – but also… ancient."

Ezio bows his head a little, looking away. Advanced and ancient – doesn't that sound familiar now?

Leonardo glances at him and then, tentatively, touches the artefact, turning it slightly. The shine of it doesn't change, it still shines with the same vivid golden glow from where the plates are split by angular seams. Ezio thinks his old friend looks disappointed – when Leonardo draws his hand away, he rubs at his fingers as if expecting a residue, but there is none. The gold doesn't mark his fingers.

Leonardo looks at him, arching his brows. "Ezio, I think…" he trails off, uncertain.

Ezio steps forward, reaching out to touch it, and then hesitating, thinking back to the night spent with Leonardo and a bottle, theorising and trying to make sense of it. Dares he touch? Ezio doesn't fear many things in life that might threaten him personally… but the shame in Desmond's eye whenever his power was spoken of, that makes him uncertain.

"The Spaniard called it the Apple," Ezio says and glances at Leonardo, curling his fingers into a fist and pulling his hand back.

"Like Eve's Apple," Leonardo comments, and he must be thinking the same things too. "Of… forbidden knowledge." They share a look and then look at the Piece of Eden, at what it might mean, what it might represent. Then Leonardo says, "Ezio…"

Ezio lays his hand on the Apple – and it's nothing like when Desmond uses his power. Desmond's magic is a soothing hum of distant rain compared to this – this is a _thunderclap_ of power, instant and blinding. Immediately Ezio can feel it branding knowledge into his mind, like a blinding flash of lightning or the bright flash of a muzzle when a firearm goes off – it leaves spots in his vision  and he sways under the onslaught and he knows, he _knows –_

Ezio slaps his hand on the Apple again, and it stops, leaving him reeling with the understanding which he can almost grasp, but the breadth of which goes just past his capability to actually perceive it. Part of him knows, and he can _feel_ himself knowing – but he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand at all.

Suddenly Ezio feels like a grain of sand on the shore of a great ocean, trying to grasp the size of the universe. Good _Lord._

Is this what Desmond feels, all the time?

Of the others, only Leonardo came out of the onslaught unaffected. Mario has fallen to his knees, clutching his head, and Machiavelli is gasping for a breath. Leonardo whirls around, seeking something that's no longer in view, and Ezio shakes his head.

"This must never fall into the wrong hands," Leonardo murmurs, horrified. "This knowledge – it would drive weaker minds insane."

"Did you understand it, Leonardo?" Ezio asks.

"Some of it," Leonardo admits. "But I think only because – I have learned. Ezio –" he turns to him. "We must take this to him. He must be the only one who can wield this."

Ezio holds his hand over the Apple of Eden and then steps back.

"Nephew?" Mario asks.

Ezio curls his hands into a fist.

"Who are you talking about?" Machiavelli demands, standing up. "Who is this person who could wield power like this?"

Ezio hesitates. Mario doesn't know, that much is clear. Ezio had written to Claudia, he had told her everything – but he had also told her to keep it a secret and not tell their mother, not before he could arrive and show her. Claudia, it seems, has held her word – she has not told. She hadn't told even their uncle. And as Ezio had not told anyone else… only Leonardo knows.

"While you were keeping secrets from me, I suppose I was keeping secrets from you," Ezio says. "Leonardo, the Apple doesn't seem to react to you – can you put it back into the bag?"

"Yes, of course," Leonardo says and quickly goes to fetch the bag the Apple had been hidden in before.

"Ezio, what secrets?" Mario asks while Machiavelli narrows his eyes.

"Do you remember, uncle, some weeks ago – Claudia told us about an old vagabond who came to Monteriggioni with what he claimed to be my child?" Ezio asks.

"What does some old lying riffraff have to do with this?" Mario asks.

Leonardo lets a strangled sort of sound and then clears his throat, putting the Apple away.

"It wasn't some old riffraff – and he wasn't lying," Ezio says, and when Leonardo hands the Apple over, now secure in its bag, Ezio accepts it carefully. No reaction this time, thank god. "The man came here, following me – following the trail I unknowingly left for him. He lives here in Venice now. And he is… different."

"What does this have to do with the Apple?" Machiavelli demands, confused.

"If we are right," Leonardo says, casting Ezio a look and at his nod, says, "He might very well be the person who made that Apple."

Mario and Machiavelli look wary at that, exchanging a dubious look, but they don't immediately dismiss the words. "What exactly makes you think that?" Machiavelli then says. "That device, if it is the same Altaïr wrote about, must be hundreds of years old! How could anyone still living have had any hand in building it?"

Ezio opens his mouth, but he cannot think of a way to word it without seeming insane. It's easy to believe the things Desmond says when he says them – easy to believe them when the man is there, and the power _emanates_ from him, alluring and undeniable. But outside that sphere of influence?

How many nights had he and Leonardo drank a whole bottle between them, talking it through, doubting themselves and their own sanity?

"I think," Leonardo says. "We should just go there and see."

"And ask," Ezio agrees, looking at the bag with the Apple in it. "Come on. Let's go talk to him."

* * *

 

Desmond is obviously waiting for them, the door is open. Inside, the house is warmly lit with candlelight despite the lateness of the hour, and Ezio feels an automatic twinge of concern mixed in with that confused _joy_ he always feels here. Are the children awake?

No, they aren't. They're sleeping in a heap across Desmond's lap as he sits in the middle of the workshop, where the golden markings had intersected. _Had_ – because they aren't there anymore. The gold on the floor is gone, the walls are only wood and stone now. They've left markings on the structures of the house with their absence. Underneath Ezio's boots, the floor creaks ominously.

"Please, be quiet," Desmond says without looking up. "I only got them to sleep."

The golden markings on his skin are shimmering. It's not the steady illumination they produce when he is using magic, nor the shimmer when he uses some other, subtler powers – this is a strange, flickering shimmer. In its light, Desmond's eyes seem to shine – and they aren't happy. In fact, he looks deeply uncomfortable.

"Desmond, what happened here?" Leonardo asks, looking around in the alarm.

"I had to destroy the Domain," Desmond says, sounding distant. "Otherwise the Apple might have connected to it through me – I don't know if I could have stopped it from spreading through Venice after that. There is so much gold here."

"What – Nephew, what is this?" Mario asks. "Who is this?"

Desmond looks up, and slowly Ezio crouches down to check over the children – his children. Desmond's hands are resting on Giovanna's shoulders and over Federica's and Pietra's back – his fingers are shimmering, but the children are sleeping peacefully.

"I couldn't be the reason you found it," Desmond says to him, apologetic. "It would have given me too much power over you. If I even accidentally _sent you_ to get it, then – I don't know what would have happened. I mean – look at me. I'm not even _involved,_ and it's affecting me."

"You knew," Ezio says.

"I knew," Desmond agrees and looks down at the children. "I'm sorry."

Ezio presses his lips together, trying not to let himself be drawn in by the siren song of Desmond's power. Even after the many times he's experienced this before, it's hard to not give into it. It feels so sweet. "Tell me what it is. You know what it is, don't you?"

Desmond hesitates, rubbing a thumb over Giovanna's shoulder and then looking up. Ezio follows his gaze where he is looking. Machiavelli is fascinated and frozen, his body tense as if ready for a fight. Mario is wide-eyed and confused, tense. For a moment, Ezio wonders – do they have the Gift? The Apple affected them, where it didn't affect him or Leonardo nearly as badly. Was that the reason? Or is it that he and Leonardo were somehow protected?

It's hard to think clearly – and yet, Ezio feels strangely calm. More calm than he usually feels in Desmond's presence. Where before he always felt lost and a little confused and weakened, now he feels… steady.

He feels _stronger_.

Ezio looks at Desmond's features, how the shimmering lines lead under his hair and beard and make the grey hairs gleam silver, and frowns. "Did you make this?" he asks, putting his hand on the Apple.

"The Apple? Ha! No. You could say _it_ made _me_ ," Desmond snorts and looks down again. "The Pieces of Eden are tools of the Isu. You've read Altaïr's Codex, right? He called them Those That Came Before."

Ezio frowns and glances up at Mario and Leonardo.

"It is a part of the Codex," Mario says slowly, sharing a look at Machiavelli who is scowling quietly.

Desmond nods. "The Isu made the Pieces of Eden – like that Apple. They also made us, humans," he says and strokes his fingers over Federica's hair. "And they made us weak to them – we were designed together. Humans and the Pieces of Eden, two parts of a joined machinery."

"… what?" Machiavelli murmurs.

"The Isu took a… simpler creature, an animal, and with the Pieces of Eden, they reshaped it into a human," Desmond says quietly, still staring at the children. "All the while making modifications so that humanity would serve them. They needed labour force, so they made one. And they made sure they would control it. That's that the Pieces of Eden are for. They control humans. They have other uses, of course, but… that's the main one. They're the tools of humanity's enslavement."

Ezio frowns, letting go of the Apple and watching him. "Are you… an Isu?"

Desmond snorts and looks at him. "No. I'm their goddamned tool too," he says wearily. "They made me for a purpose, and I went against that purpose. The result wasn't… ideal."

"Then this," Machiavelli motions at him, "is a punishment?"

"Side effect of using their technology," Desmond says, looking up. "The machine that's made of humans and the Pieces of Eden is greater than sum of its parts. We're compatible in ways the Isu didn't intend – throw us together in a particular way, and… you get power. And side effects."

Desmond looks at Ezio. "You and me – and everyone with our Gifts – we're descended from the Isu. That's where your abilities come from," he says. "That means we're not only susceptible to their devices and their enslaving, manipulating effect… but we can also control them. Do you see?"

Ezio thinks he does. He'd – felt something of it, when he'd touched the Apple. The knowledge that had flashed in front of his eyes, it was of power – of all the things he could do with the Apple. He thinks he could now lay his hand on it and… control everyone in this room. His own uncle, Machiavelli, Leonardo… he could make his children stop fearing him or shying away from him, he could make them _obey._

And, he realises with something like wonder, he could do the same… to Desmond. All that power, all that knowledge, the _magic,_  and he could command it with the Apple and a single word – make this powerful magician bend to his will.

And Desmond knows it too. He knows it – and he could have stopped it. Domain – Ezio doesn't understand it, not fully, but when the house was lined with gold, Desmond was more powerful. He could have used it to claim the Apple. He could have simply sent Ezio to get the Apple, and bring it to him. The power that now teases at Ezio's senses, Desmond has it too, and any time he could have used it to bend them to his will, he had not.

Instead, Desmond has drawn his own power in as much as he can – and now, Ezio could overpower him.

"You do see," Desmond whispers and closes his eyes. "Good. That's good."

"Ezio? Messere Desmond – what are you talking about?" Leonardo asks quietly, worried.

"I…" Ezio trails off, but – he can't say it. He doesn't know what to say. Uncertain, he looks down at the children, sleeping across Desmond's legs. Why are they here and not in their beds? Because they are both powerful and susceptible, too. They're Ezio's children, and Desmond's wards. In the unseen power struggle between Desmond and the Apple in Ezio's possession, they're vulnerable. And Desmond had drawn in his influence.

Desmond can only protect them when he's touching them.

"I am not going to use the Apple," Ezio says, horrified. "Did you think I would?"

"It's not _you_ I'm worried about," Desmond says, shaking his head. "Those things have a will of their own."

"What is this?" Machiavelli demands.

"If the Apple is dangerous, we should get rid of it," Ezio says quickly, ignoring him and keeping his eyes on Desmond. "We should destroy it."

"You can't – it's needed," Desmond says sadly. "But you will have to control it, otherwise it will control you, and through you it will try to control us. I'll tell you everything I can about it, I promise. But you will have to keep it for now."

Ezio grimaces. "Tell me, why?"

"That Apple is a key that will open a Grand Temple, five hundred years from now, and with the Temple the world will be saved," Desmond says and smiles apologetically. "Which I know sounds ridiculous, but I swear, it's true. It's needed, Ezio."

Ezio draws a breath and looks down at the children, sleeping soundly as they talk. Desmond's golden fingers brush through the dark strands of Giovanna's hair and suddenly Ezio is overcome by the realisation that he has to keep the children safe. It's not just up to Desmond anymore.

Desmond has a weakness – and it might be a weakness he chooses to have, but it's still one that could control him. At the same time, the Spaniard and the Templars would no doubt stop at nothing to get the Apple back. If it's even a fraction as powerful as Desmond is… they'd stop at nothing.

Everything is all at once more complicated than ever before – and clear. Ezio might not know what is the safest course of action here – but he knows what he wants.

"Can you control it?" Desmond asks quietly. "Will you try?"

Ezio makes a face and then reaches for the Apple again. He doesn't take it out, but he eases the string holding the satchel shut open just enough to get his fingers into the satchel – and immediately the power assaults him again, bombarding his mind with knowledge and temptation and power and –

 _Stop_ , Ezio thinks, with the greatest force of will he can manage. _Stop, now._

The light still shines through his fingers, but as Ezio looks up, the tantalising shimmering of the golden lines on Desmond's weathered old face diminishes and fades away, leaving only the usual glimmer of metal and amber eyes behind. Slowly, Ezio detaches his hand from the Apple of Eden, and Desmond closes his eyes, releasing a long, shaking sigh.

"Come with me to Monteriggioni," Ezio says.

"Monteriggioni's protections are not enough," Machiavelli says quickly. "No offence intended, Mario – but the fortress is small and its defences old. Forlì will do us better – it's ruled by an ally, and its fortifications are strong, its cannons modern. It will do better as a safeguard for the Apple."

" _Ezio_ is the best safeguard for the Apple," Desmond says quietly, watching him. "So as long as you know what it is you have, it can never be stolen from you."

Ezio frowns and looks up at Mario, Machiavelli and Leonardo, who has a deeply fascinated look on his face. Mario looks conflicted and Machiavelli is scowling, but neither put forth more ideas – seems like it's up to him.

Ezio wonders, sadly, if he missed a chance to fully enjoy ignorance and bliss. He should have taken advantage of it, of the strange shelter of Desmond's power, basking in the sense of safety it had given him before. He's not sure he will ever feel it the same way again. The foundations of power are shifting under him, and Ezio thinks he's not going to be able to un-shift them again.

He's made his decision. "We will go to Monteriggioni," he decides and smiles down at the children. "I want to introduce my children to their grandmother."

Mario looks alarmed, and even Machiavelli frowns. "Nephew – _all_ of them?" he asks in astonishment.

Ezio clears his throat. "Well. Yes, all of them. Uncle, these are Giovanna da Firenze, Matteo da Forlì and Federica and Pietra da Venezia – they are all my children. Desmond has been… guarding them," he says.

"You should have told us," Mario says, sounding stunned and hurt.

"I told Claudia," Ezio admits. "I thought she would have told you – and I always meant to bring them home. Desmond – "

"Here." Desmond gently hands first Federica to him, and then Pietra, once Ezio has the first of his youngest daughters held securely in his arm. Ezio bows his head and inhales against the babies' hair – clean and soft and safe, as always. Desmond watches him, though not as warily as he usually does, and then manoeuvres Giovanna and Matteo to his arm, hoisting them with ease up and then standing with limber fluidity more befitting a man twenty years his junior.

Ezio looks over Desmond with this new understanding and power he has over him and wonders how old the man truly is – and how much of his power had he been biting back for fear of influencing people around him. How much more is there to learn?

"I have our things already packed," Desmond says and kisses Giovanna's hair. "We are ready to go whenever."

Ezio looks at Mario and Machiavelli.

"We have a ship ready for us," Mario admits, somewhat confusedly. "We expected to leave Venice in haste."

"In that case," Ezio says and looks at Desmond. "Let's go."

The old man closes his eyes, his golden lines still inert and calm.

He looks wretchedly relieved.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold this absolutely beautiful piece of art by Viviena ([vivienadrawings](https://www.instagram.com/vivienadrawings/) on instagram and [VivienaNaDne](https://twitter.com/VivienaNaDne) on twitter) This chapter is totally dedicated to them. Many many thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

It's still dark when they set out, and thanks to the new Doge, the navy of Venice doesn't so much as bat an eye at them as their ship slides part the other vessels in the harbour, quietly setting out to the sea. Ezio spends the launch warily on the deck, watching out for dangers, but it doesn't seem that the Spaniard has the forces to make chase. So they leave Venice behind, undisturbed.

It's another half an hour over the sea before Ezio can breathe easy. For seven years he lived in Venice only visiting Monteriggioni perhaps once or twice a year – now the Most Serene is being left behind and Ezio slinks away, once more, like a thief in the night.

Such is the life of an Assassin.

"Nephew," Mario says quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We must speak. Come."

Ezio sighs and looks away from the deck. He can feel Desmond and the children below deck – a larger cabin had been hastily made for them, and Leonardo is with them. Ezio thinks the children are awake – launch of a ship isn't a completely silent affair, after all. He should go to them.

He goes with Mario instead to another cabin, Mario's own. Machiavelli is there, perusing a book.

"This Desmond," Machiavelli says, glancing up. "Who is he? Where did he come from?"

Ezio sits on an available chair and doesn't answer immediately, tugging his hood down while his uncle sits down as well, both of them watching him. The situation has the flavour of interrogation, masters and teachers questioning their student.

Ezio tries not to let it rub him the wrong way, though he doesn't really even know who Machiavelli is. He'd only first met the man the night before, and Machiavelli can't be even twenty yet – that he has more knowledge and greater authority grates. It's not a pleasant feeling.

"I don't know where Desmond came from, I know very little about his history," Ezio says and looks away, frowning at his own unease, confused. "But I know he comes from no place we know of. Likely he doesn't even come from this time. Leonardo once theorised that Desmond can move through time."

"Can he?" Machiavelli asks, watching him closely.

"If he wished, through – he admitted he could, once, but to do it again he would have to create something terrible," Ezio says. "A machine he would rather die than make."

"And you believe him, nephew?" Mario asks thoughtfully.

"I have seen him do things – he had powers and knowledge, which goes being my understanding," Ezio admits. "He denies that it's magic, but that's what it looks like – he himself calls it cheating and insists that with right devices and technology, anyone could do similar things, only he has… means to bypass limitations of technology. Or the lack thereof."

Mario and Machiavelli share a look, and it's hard to say if they believe him. Or rather, they do believe him, but they're not sure if he has truly seen what he thinks he's seen. It's a strange insight, but he thinks Machiavelli thinks him something of a fool, naive still and easy to trick.

Ezio can understand why, considering how long the Assassin Brotherhood had been leading him by the nose, but – the bitter annoyance he feels about it catches him off guard. How dare this upstart look down on him?

Ezio frowns and looks down at his own hands, leaning his elbows to his knees. "He also knows things about how the universe is put together," he says. "Concepts which even Leonardo has difficulty keeping up with. And he can create devices – I've seen it – unlike anything I have ever seen before. I've he made a thing that lets you see things too small to be seen normally. For creation of medicine, he said."

"Do you know what it is he wants?" Machiavelli asks, leaning in. "Why collect your children?"

Ezio smothers the urge to scowl at him. "He wants to leave a message in the sanctuary under the Auditore Villa, that's the only thing he's truly asked for."

"You told him about the sanctuary?"

"He already knew," Ezio says and gives him a look. "I didn't have to tell him anything."

With the Apple he could put this bastard in his place. It wouldn't even be hard, just one touch, one thought –

Ezio blinks, startled, and then clasps his hands together. "Why are Paola and La Volpe not with us?" he asks. "Did they stay in Venice?"

"Paola did – La Volpe travels by land, it offers him the opportunity to gather knowledge," Mario says. "They will join us in Monteriggioni eventually."

"Ezio, tell us more about Desmond – about these powers he has," Machiavelli insists. "What is it precisely you've seen him do?"

Does he always sound so disdainful, or does he have some dislike for Ezio in particular? Is he jealous of Ezio, for knowing things he didn't know of? Wonder why the man lets him keep the Apple, since he has so little trust in him. No doubt he still wants to take it to Forlì instead of Monteriggioni. How soon until he would try to take the Apple away from him?

Ezio blinks through the confusing haze of the sudden dislike he feels for Machiavelli, and with that, it evaporates, leaving him only feeling cold and confused. What was he thinking?

"Nephew?" Mario asks.

Ezio shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. "I think I'm tired," he says, trying to put his thoughts in order. This is not the time for this. "I'm sorry, uncle, Machiavelli – can we do this later?" he asks and stands. "I would like to go to see my children now and then rest."

They share a look, and then Mario stands up as well. "I will go with you – I would like to get to know my grandnephews better."

Ezio nods, and without so much as a look at Machiavelli, he heads out of the cabin door. Out in the narrow corridors of the ship, it feels as though he can breathe easier. Strange.

"Nephew," Mario says as they walk. "These children – are you certain they are –"

"I am," Ezio says and looks at him. "Do you doubt me, uncle?"

"No," Mario says and shakes his head. "But it has been a strange night."

A strange month, a strange decade, really. Ezio hums in agreement, and then he had to ask, "Uncle, who is Machiavelli? Where did he come from?"

"He is the son of an old ally – frustratingly intelligent young man, but not much for a pleasant conversation," Mario says and clasps him on his back. "Don't let his manners fool you – he's very passionate about the safety and the future of the brotherhood."

Ezio blows out a breath. "If you say so, uncle. He doesn't seem to like me much. Seems like a very humourless, stiff sort to me."

"You have quite the reputation, nephew – you make him nervous," Mario laughs.

Ezio almost stops at that. "What?" he asks, taken aback. "Reputation?"

"Nephew, in less than ten years you have taken down more Templars than any one Assassin had since Altaïr himself," Mario says. "You assassinated almost every member of the Pazzi conspiracy and routed the Barbarigos in Venice. I assure you, it's nothing to sneeze at."

Ezio blinks at that. He'd never considered it in those terms. To him it seemed to have taken all too long, and still getting him nowhere. He'd been working alone for so long, and then...

In face of all the people he knew and trusted having proven themselves Assassins, he'd been so confused, even a little hurt by the deception that he'd never considered what they might think of him – how they might see his actions. He'd never thought to compare his own accomplishments against those of other Assassins. There was no one to compare to, except uncle Mario, and he's more of a mercenary than an Assassin these days. Now there are others.

And judging by what Mario is saying, what Ezio has done is something the others look up to.

The last of the proud, angry haze fades, and Ezio feels a little sheepish and even ashamed of himself. "Thank you, uncle," he says quietly.

Mario nods, clapping his shoulder, and together they head for the door to Desmond's cabin.

The door is closed – Leonardo opens it at the first knock.

"Quietly," he says. "Federica just fell asleep."

She is the only one who has. Giovanna and Matteo are wide awake, Matteo pressed against Desmond's side while Giovanna is sitting by the wall, hugging her toy soldier angrily. Federica is swaddled and sleeping in Desmond lap while the man sits cross-legged on a cot with Pietra cradled in one arm, holding a bottle with the other for her to drink from.

Desmond looks up, glancing him over and then looks back down at Pietra. "It's late," he says, a greeting and a warning wrapped in one.

"Yes," Ezio agrees. "We won't stay long. Is everything alright?"

"No," Giovanna mutters and presses her face against her doll. "It's not."

"Federica woke up and subsequently woke everyone else up as well," Desmond says with a little smile. "But I think we shall survive until we reach Forlì."

Ezio nods and steps closer, looking at Pietra in Desmond's arms. The baby is obviously tired, suckling lazily and snuffling sleepily between swallows. Desmond hums as Ezio reaches out to touch the baby's hair, feeling more settled again. Pietra looks content.

Then he looks down at Matteo, and the boy looks up at him, silent and big-eyed. Then, surprising Ezio a little, the boy detaches from Desmond's robes and reaches out to Ezio, for him to pick him up.

Ezio isn't about to turn that kind of invitation down. "Hey there, son," he murmurs and picks the boy up, settling him against his hip the way Desmond carries the kids, mindful of his weapons and armour of course. "How are you doing? We're going on a little journey, are you excited?"

Matteo doesn't answer, but he does wrap his hand around the edge of Ezio's hood and then leans against his shoulder, sighing tiredly.

Desmond watches them with a fragile expression, and Ezio ruffles a hand through Matteo's hair before turning to look at Giovanna. She's glaring at him.

"Why did we have to leave?" Giovanna asks sullenly. "I don't like this place, it's stupid and cold and damp. I want to go home."

"I told you, sweetheart, it's important," Desmond says. "I'm sorry – but we did take everything with us, so it will be kind of like we're good wherever we go."

"It's not the same! I want to go home!"

"Giovanna, volume. You'll wake your sister."

"I don't care," she mutters, but quietly. "I want to go home."

"Sorry, darling, it had to be done," Ezio says and goes sit down beside her. "It'll be just a couple of days over the sea, and then we'll head to Monteriggioni, where you will have your own rooms and as much space as you want to play."

"I don't want to go to stupid Monteriggioni," she says sullenly, her lips quivering. "I want to go  _home."_

Obviously, this is an argument that had been going for a while, judging by the tired look Desmond gives the girl and how uncomfortable Leonardo looks. Matteo just sighs, tugging lightly at Ezio's hood and saying, as per usual, nothing.

"I'm sorry, Giovanna, but we can't go back. And I think you will like Monteriggioni. It can be like a new home to you." Desmond says gently. "It will be alright, sweetheart."

"No, it won't!" Giovanna says angrily, her eyes tearing up. "It will never be home, and it will never be alright!"

"Giovanna –"

Before Desmond can say more, Giovanna lifts the edge of Ezio's cape and ducks under it, wrapping it around herself like – well – a cape. Echo blinks at her with surprise as she tucks herself close try his side, shaking like a leaf.

"She's just tired," Desmond says to him apologetically. "They're all tied – it's been a long day."

"I'm not tired!" Giovanna snaps, muffled against Ezio's side. "I'm angry!"

"You'll feel better tomorrow," Desmond says with a sigh.

"No, I won't, I'll hate it even more –"

"No, you won't –"

"And I  _hate you!"_

Desmond looks like he's been slapped, freezing where he's sitting and looking stricken.

"Oh, darling," Ezio murmurs and wraps his free hand around Giovanna's shaking shoulders. "You don't mean that – and you shouldn't say things you don't mean. You hurt your papa that way."

Giovanna mutters something which sounds dangerously like, "He's not even really our papa, you are."

Desmond closes his eyes for a moment and then concentrates on feeding Pietra, his lips drawn in a tight, unhappy line. The silence stretches for a moment from there while Ezio tries to think of something to say, Leonardo teeters on the edge of something and then swallows it, and Mario looks at Ezio, his brows arched.

Then Giovanna goes tense and carefully peeks from under Ezio's cape at unhappy Desmond, looking in parts angry and nervous as only six year old who realises she's done something bad can look. Desmond isn't looking at her, but it's obvious to anyone with eyes he's hurt.

Giovanna bursts from under Ezio's cape and rushes to Desmond, sobbing, "Papa, I didn't mean it!" as she climbs into the bed and squirms to Desmond side. "Papa, I'm sorry –!"

"I know, sweetheart – shush, mind your sister –"

Too late – Pietra gets jostled and starts to wail in alarm, and when one twin cries, the other soon follows. That only makes Giovanna cry harder, and in no time at all, Matteo too gets affected by the general mood of unhappy misery that seems to mire the room.

Desmond looks  _exhausted._

Leonardo shares a look with Mario, and while Ezio stands up again with Matteo clinging to his robes, Leonardo nods at him and then quietly exits the room. "We'll talk tomorrow, nephew," Mario says quietly and follows Leonardo out, closing the door after them.

 _Much help you are,_ Ezio scoffs, with Matteo crying against his chest, and then goes to the bed. "Desmond."

"I swear, they're not usually like this," Desmond says with a sigh as he picks Federica up and starts to try to calm her and Pietra down by rocking them gently in his arms. "Shhh shhh, it's alright…"

"I know," Ezio says. "Giovanna, honey – come here."

"No!" she shouts and clutches onto Desmond harder. "I want papa to hold me!"

Desmond looks helpless and overwhelmed, looking at Ezio over Frederica's little head. Ezio sighs and with crying Matteo sits down beside them. "Give her to me," Ezio says quietly.

It's a tricky move, manoeuvring four crying, unhappy children between them, but they manage it, Ezio holding Matteo and Federica while Desmond holds Pietra and Giovanna. Ezio murmurs soothing things to the children he's holding, rocking them like he's seen Desmond doing, while Desmond runs a hand through Giovanna's hair and assures her he isn't mad at her.

"It's alright, sweetheart, it's alright, I promise, shh…"

It takes a miserably long while for the kids to exhaust themselves. Giovanna quiets down first, tucking herself under Desmond's arm and sniffling unhappily. Matteo isn't much of a loud crier in the first place, and when Giovanna stops making noise, he follows, staring at still wailing Federica wearily. Pietra goes quiet when Ezio sets Matteo down long enough to grab the discarded bottle – it takes some doing, but the baby accepts the bottle eventually, still making unhappy noises, but quieting down to drink.

Federica cries herself to sleep.

"Sorry," Desmond murmurs quietly while Ezio holds the bottle for Pietra, both of them watching her. "It's been hell of an hour."

"It's alright," Ezio says, shifting where he sits a little so that Matteo can crawl into his lap. "You don't have to apologise – they're my children too."

Desmond sighs and nods.

"I am wondering how your last sea voyage went, if this is already so hard for them," Ezio admits with smile.

"Papa cheated with magic," Giovanna says sullenly around her thumb, which she's stuck into her mouth.

Desmond gently pulls the thumb out of her mouth and then kisses her head. "Last time it only took an hour," he agrees. "Easier for everyone."

"I don't suppose you could do it now?" Ezio asks half jokingly.

Desmond snorts, but doesn't answer.

Between them they get Pietra fed, and soon after she begins falling asleep. Ezio stands to put first Federica down on the crib Desmond and Leonardo had obviously just made – all the bedding on it is pristine. It didn't have any gold though, which is interesting. Most everything Desmond makes that's larger than what can be fit in man's palm has some gold in it – this crib has none.

Ezio carefully takes Pietra from Desmond and sets her down beside her sister, making sure they're sleeping comfortably and safely in the slightly swaying crib.

"Time for you to sleep as well, my little boy," Ezio says, picking Matteo up again. "Do you think you could sleep?"

Matteo makes a face but nods, wrapping his little arms around Ezio's neck. Hugging him gently, Ezio carries him to the other cots, obviously set for the children, while Desmond picks Giovanna up and does the same, rubbing her back gently.

"I don't want to sleep –"

"It's late, honey, way past your bedtime. And don't try to tell me you're not tired when I can see you yawning," Desmond says, smiling slightly.

"Then I want a story," Giovanna says tiredly, clutching onto Desmond like her life depends on it. "I want a story about the flying house and the little girl and the dog."

Desmond glances at Ezio helplessly.

"Good forbid I stand between the children and bedtime stories," Ezio says, while setting Matteo's shoes down. "Go right ahead."

Desmond tucks Giovanna beside her brother and then kneels by the cot. "Story about the flying house then, alright," he says, leaning his elbows on the side of the cot while Giovanna and Matteo both look at him expectantly. "There was once upon a time a sad, sad old man, living in a big, big city, all alone. He was so old that he'd lost all the things and all the people he'd loved to time – they'd died of old age, while he lived on and on, all alone."

Ezio sits back, listening Desmond painting a strangest picture of an old man filling his house with all things that fly, birds and butterflies, until the house became so light that it could fly – because he wanted to take it to a place where he was happy. But what he didn't know is that there was a little girl on his stoop, who had came around to help him, and when the house went into the air, so went the girl, swept away into the old man's adventure.

What happens next, Ezio has no idea – by the time the old man in the story noticed the girl, Giovanna and Matteo are both fast asleep.

"That's quite the story," Ezio connected quietly.

"I stole it from a movie. It's a – never mind," Desmond says with a tired laugh and reaches over to kiss both the children goodnight. "Thanks for the help, I don't know how I would have managed them alone."

"Like I said, they're my children too," Ezio shrugs and watches the old man stand up. Even though he must be exhausted, be still moves with easy grace.

"Still, I appreciate it," Desmond says and then sits back on his own cot with a sigh. "Was there something you wanted, Ezio? Something I can do for you?

Ezio hesitates, looking towards the kids. "I think the Apple affected me earlier, somehow. I became – irritated and suspicious at Machiavelli for no reason. I felt like I ought to use the Apple to put him in his place," he trails away. "The Apple can do that, can't it? It's trying to make me use it."

"They corrupt their users, if they aren't careful," Desmond agrees quietly. "There's a will behind them that hates humanity and still tries to manipulate us. Usually you don't notice it though, it's insidiously subtle."

"It didn't feel very subtle," Ezio says. "It felt unnatural and wrong."

"You're not a power-hungry person by nature, so it can't get you with promises of power," Desmond says. "So it tries other means. This won't be the last thing it tries – you need to be careful."

"I know what it feels like now, I'll be on my guard," Ezio promises.

Desmond nods and looks a little guilty. "I'm sorry I can't help you more. I'm more susceptible to those things than you are – if I touch the thing, it will take my body over in an instant."

"But your have used these devices before?" Ezio asks. "That's how you became…" he trails off and motions towards Desmond's face.

"Yes – that's why I became like this. The Apple started taking me over, converting me into a machine," Desmond sighs and shakes his head. "And I let it."

"Will the same happen to me?" Ezio asks quietly.

Desmond is quiet for a moment. "There were other factors," he says then. "I'm like this because I'm – very old. The Apple had a long time to sink its roots in me. If you let it, yes, it will change you. But I doubt you will become like me – not unless I convert you myself."

Ezio swallows and Desmond looks down, lost in some grim, golden thought. Ezio looks towards the children, and Desmond does the same.

"The Isu – are they still alive?" Ezio then asks.

"Alive, no," Desmond says with a sigh and closes his eyes. "But their ghosts are nuisance enough."


	15. Chapter 15

Thankfully the rest of the journey over the gulf goes much easier than the first night – the children seem to wear themselves down that first night so badly that they don't feel like repeating the experience, and though Giovanna is still unhappy and the twins so cry on occasion, there are no more incidents with all four children having unified tantrums.

Desmond even manages to take in the deck, with Leonardo watching over the sleeping twins and the elder children following him around nervously. Seeing them, Ezio detaches himself from the company of Machiavelli and Mario and goes to join them.

Outside, Desmond wears his hood up and covering most of his features, his hands gloved and most of the gold on his skin covered. Having only seen the man at his house or at the garden, where he no doubt felt more at ease, it's a new experience for Ezio to see him so wary. Desmond even angles his face downwards, as if humble or shy, to keep the sunlight from his face.

Wondering if he should tell the man that the act only makes him stand out more in his pristine white robes, surrounded as he is by similarly meticulously clean children. The image they make is like something out of an ethereal painting – against the backdrop of the ship and its sailors, none of them at their best, Desmond and the children look weirdly out of place.

Like an old seraphim, trailed by and watching over attentive, playful cherubim. All they are missing are the wings, really.

"How do you keep all of you so clean?" Ezio asks. "I habitually wear white, and none of my clothes stay that clean for that long."

Desmond glances his way, and he smiles, amused. "I cheat," he says simply and then, without even looking, "Don't go too close, Giovanna."

"I was only looking!" she says defensively, but backs away from the side. "I wanted to see the side of the ship."

"Don't make me fish you out of the sea," Desmond says calmly and then crouches down to pick her up. "Here, hold on, carefully now…"

They lean carefully over the edge while Matteo hangs onto the hem of Desmond's robes and looks up, silently requesting. Ezio looks down at him and then crouches beside him, asking, "do you want to see too, son?"

Matteo hesitates and then hold his arms out to Ezio. With a grin the Assassin picks the boy up and moves next to Desmond, so that both children can see where the sides of the ship meet the water.

"How does it work?" Giovanna asks, looking at Desmond. "The ship is bigger than the house. Why doesn't it sink?"

Desmond settles her weight securely against his side. "Have I taught you about buoyancy and fluid dynamics yet?"

Giovanna shakes his head.

"Well, you know how your toys float in bathwater? That's because they are lighter than the water…."

Ezio listens to the primary lesson about why ships generally don't stick – unless they do – and that water and air abide by a similar set of rules, that air is a sort of fluid of its own – though not liquid – and that because of _fluid dynamics_ when sails of a ship get filled with air, the pressure pushes the ship forward, and thanks to buoyancy and more fluid dynamics, the ship is light enough for wind to move.

"Where does the wind come from?" Giovanna asks promptly. "Is there a machine that makes it?"

Desmond grins. "Sort of. The Sun makes wind, Sun and the rotation of the Earth," he says. "And some other things, but mostly it's the Sun. Hot air rises, remember? Sun heats Earth's atmosphere, which creates warm air that rises, and when that air rises, it creates a vacuum, which gets filled by other parts of air, because fluid dynamics – all things want to go to places with lower pressure. And in the meanwhile, as the air heated by sun rises, it pushes other air out of the way, which creates more currents, and the cold air descends, which makes more currents, and so forth and so forth, until you get wind."

"Okay – but why does hot air rise?" Giovanna asks intently.

Ezio loses track of the endless chain of _whys_ and _becauses_ as Giovanna spirals down into more convoluted questions and Desmond answers them, one by one. Not all of his explanations make sense to Ezio – most of them don't, really – and how much Giovanna herself understands is hard to say, but she looks satisfied enough with each answer, taking them at a face value until she finally gets bored.

"Can we go up there?" She asks and points at the masts.

"Physically we could, but I don't think the sailors would like it much," Desmond laughs. "I think we might get in the way."

"I could take them," Ezio says before thinking it through fully. "I'm sure the sailors wouldn't say no to that, seeing that we chartered the ship."

Desmond hums, considering the masts. Ezio does the same and then realises the ridiculousness of the suggestion – taking children up there, especially children at young as Giovanna and Matteo, it's ludicrous.

"No, never mind," he says. "It was foolish of me to –"

"Oh, please!" Giovanna says, excited. "Please, papa, please!"

"Well," Desmond says slowly, running a hand over his grey beard. "You're going to need a harness."

"What?" Ezio asks, blinking.

"You can't climb and hold someone at the same time," Desmond says. "And even Giovanna isn't strong enough to hold herself on your back. You're going to need a harness for the kids to sit in. Honestly, I've been meaning to make one anyway. Come on," be says, with Giovanna's eyes shining with excitement. "Let's go back to the cabin and see what we can do."

Ezio eyes him with surprise and then follows, Matteo lightly kicking his side in excitement. Though Ezio has seen Desmond making things before, they were never things for his use, nor because of him. And now he knows and understands more.

Watching Desmond take a roll of rope and change it into a carrying harness is no less magical with the new understanding Ezio almost had of it. He can tell now that the power comes from the golden markings, that through them and _because_ of them Desmond can somehow reshape reality – but it still looks like magic.

He thinks he could grasp it fully with the Apple – maybe even replicate it. It's the same sort of technology, after all, and it holds the knowledge of how to do this – surely, if he just reached out and touched the Apple, he would not only understand, but he too would wield that same, incredible power….

Ezio squeezes his fingers into a fist and forces the Apple's whispers from his mind. _Stop it, now._

In Desmond's hands, the robe forms into the interwoven, intricate net of loops and connections – even the original shape of the rope changes, from simple twisted coil to flat woven ribbons, tougher and harder than any fabric Ezio as ever possessed – likely tougher than the original rope itself was.

"I will never grow tired of seeing this," Leonardo sighs wistfully.

Desmond snorts and then turns to Ezio. "Now, let's see about getting this on you."

Ezio's role in putting on the harness is mostly standing still while Desmond puts it on him. He feels frankly rather ridiculous with all the straps on, but the thing is remarkably comfortable, and with some small adjustments, Desmond makes it fit over his armour perfectly. It leaves a loose part at his back with trailing bits of reshaped rope – but that is where Giovanna goes.

"We'll have your sister try it first and then you can go," Desmond says to Matteo, while Ezio crouches down for Giovanna. The end result of the whole thing is as if he's carrying her piggyback, but he has to do nothing – she sits comfortably in the harness, without him having to use a single hand to hold her. With the harness, Ezio hardly even feels her weight.

"How is that, sweetheart?" Desmond asks, while Ezio stands, marveling how easy the whole thing is.

"Oh, ohh," Giovanna says excitedly and then taps at Ezio's pauldrons. "Let's go, let's go!"

"Is it quite secure?" Ezio asks, worried and eager.

"So as long as you don't do any summersaults," Desmond says fondly and adjusts a last strap. "Go slowly and don't blame me if she throws up on you."

They end up serving as entertainment to very annoyed and then amused sailors, as Ezio hauls himself up the rigging and Giovanna squeals in excitement. Mario and Machiavelli are watching from the deck, talking with Desmond and Matteo, and though Ezio had offered to take the kids up out of a brand of jealousy for having so little to offer them in wake of Desmond's care and knowledge… the thing becomes somehow more profound than he expected it to.

Mario looks approving and Desmond looks somber, and abruptly Ezio realises what he is doing, as an Assassin, taking his children up to see the world as he sees it, from the eagle's perspective.

Giovanna enjoys the climb immensely, shrieking happily and waving her arms and wishing to go higher – and one day, Ezio thinks he'd like to take her up the bell tower of Santa Maria del Fiore, she would love that.

"What do you think?" Ezio asks, holding onto the mast and looking at her over his shoulder. "Do you like it?"

"It's amazing!" Giovanna enthuses and tries to stand up, but Desmond's harness doesn't let her, keeping her safe and secure on Ezio's back. "It's like flying!"

"Like in that story, huh?" Ezio asks, smiling. "I did fly once. Has uncle Leonardo told you about his flying machine? I was the first – and likely the only – person who got to fly it."

"Ooh!" Giovanna says excitedly. "When, where, how? Can I fly it?"

"I'm sorry, darling, it was destroyed. I do have a model of it at our villa in Monteriggioni, I'll show you what it looked like when we get there."

Giovanna is quiet for a moment after that, her face growing thoughtful. "The ladies at Monteriggioni didn't like us."

"My sister Claudia was mistaken, and I'm sorry about that," Ezio says. "And I'm sure she's too. She's not going to be mean to you – no one is. You're family."

Giovanna doesn't say anything to that, but she winds her arms around his neck. "Can we go higher?" she then asks.

"I don't think so, sweetheart – but we can go to that other mast," Ezio points.

"... How?" Giovanna asks dubiously – and then lets out a delighted shriek as Ezio walks over the rope connecting the two masts. He ends up having to do it several times, and had to berate Giovanna to stay still and not tip them over – but it's definitely worth it.

"You must never try this without your father or me there," Desmond says firmly to Giovanna when Ezio makes his way down back to the deck. "It's very dangerous. Do you understand, Giovanna?"

"I understand, Papa, I won't," Giovanna says happily, squirming out of the harness as Desmond releases her.

"Good girl. You had fun?"

"I did! Matteo is going to love it too!"

Matteo is very quiet when it's his turn to go, clutching onto Ezio's hood and looking every which way silently with wide eyes. Ezio worries he might have a fear of heights and asks, "Do you want to go down?" but the little boy only shakes his head and holds onto Ezio harder. So Ezio takes him all the way up to the top of the masts and stands there for a while, silent, letting the boy take in the view – and it's a great one, with open sea as far as the eye can see and pure white clouds in deep blue sky.

Then Matteo sighs and rests his cheek on Ezio's shoulder and says, very quietly, "Pretty."

Ezio tries very hard not to be affected. "Yes, it is, isn't it?" he agrees, and if his voice shakes a little, Matteo says nothing about it.

* * *

 

It's a beautiful day when they make landfall. As per usual, the lands around Forlì are flooded, with still waters sitting every which way one looks – but there's very little wind, and the waters are like mirrors, reflecting the sparsely clouded skies beautifully.

"Most excellent traveling weather," Mario says with satisfaction. "I suggest we seek to rent the services of a coachman at Forlì – as our company ended up with quite a deal of luggage."

By which he means the chests and crates Desmond had insisted on bringing with them – in which he'd packed all the belongings of his family.

"There should be no need," Machiavelli says. "I took the liberty of sending a message ahead, and our ally at Forlì should have provided us with accommodations."

"I'm taking the Apple to Monteriggioni, Machiavelli," Ezio says. "It and my children."

"As you feel it right – but we should still make a visit," Machiavelli says pointedly. "This ally is of particular note."

Ezio feels that Apple-borne spark of annoyance and suspicion and smothers it. "Who is this all-important ally then?" he asks, looking at Mario.

"Caterina Sforza," Mario says. "Who, with her husband dead and her son still too young, had become the regent of Forlì."

"Ah – I see," Ezio says, growing more interested. He had met the woman once, and she had been… formidable. "That is a powerful ally indeed. I suppose it would be terribly rude not to offer our compliments and regrets for her husband's death."

Desmond is coming down the plank with the twins swaddled securely in a white sling while Giovanna and Matteo hold his hands. He looks worried.

"I heard you talking – are we staying in Forlì?" he asks.

"Only long enough to pay our respects," Ezio assures him. "Why?"

Desmond presses his scarred lips tight together and doesn't answer – he does, however, give Matteo a slight concerned glance, which the boy, too busy looking around in wide-eyed curiosity, doesn't notice.

Ah, that's right. Matteo was born in Forlì – and his mother had sold him to Desmond.

"... I'm sure it won't be long at all," Ezio says slowly.

Desmond nods and then leans in to speak to him, saying quietly, "Also, Forlì is going to be attacked by Templars – Orsi brothers – who will come after the Apple."

"What – how?" Ezio demands. "How do they know?"

"Logic. Rodrigo knows you would take the Apple somewhere safe, and he knows Forlì has just allied with Assassins. It makes sense," Desmond says simply and sighs. "This was so long ago for me, I can barely remember it, but I think her husband was a Templar?"

Ezio frowns and then turns to Mario and Machiavelli. "Do you know people called the Orsi Brothers?" he asks.

Machiavelli and Mario exchange confused looks. "I think Caterina engaged their services to deal away with her husband," Mario says.

"Girolamo Riario was found out to be a Templar," Machiavelli explains. "Caterina wished to take care of it herself without involving the Assassins – it should have been accomplished by now."

Ezio hums and looks at Desmond. "We will not be going to Forlì – you might want to send another word ahead, Machiavelli, and warn Caterina Sforza about her new allies – they aren't on her side. The city is going to be attacked, if we take the Apple there."

Machiavelli looks between them, frowning. Then he turns and goes to talk to, it looks like, a soldier from Forlì – he wears the city's colours.

"Nephew, I trust your wisdom greatly – but Machiavelli is right that Forlì has better fortifications than Monteriggioni, and it can withstand assault much better," Mario says, frowning. "If we take the Apple there and the town is attacked instead…"

Ezio frowns. He is not wrong – Ezio had made strides in bringing Monteriggioni to proper standing, but there's little they can do about the walls. They were designed to stand against catapults – not cannons. As it is, the town has little in a way of cannons as it is – its military importance has faded over the years, and so they have enjoyed a relative peace and security at the town…

But with the Apple and all it might give to powerful men, Monteriggioni would become a target.

"How fast could the Spaniard launch an attack?" Ezio wonders worriedly.

"It's not a matter of timing, but of the power it might bring to bear – he has great influence in the Vatican," Mario says, concerned. "And rumour has it, he is aiming for the Holy See, which would give him more power still."

Ezio hesitates, his hand lingering over the satchel where the Apple lies.

"Forlì has stood against the papal armies before and held her ground," Mario says.

"That won't mean much with the enemy already inside the city," Machiavelli says, walking back to them. "If Checco and Ludovico are on the Templars' side, using Forlì is too risky – there is no knowing what kind of traps there are already in place. We cannot risk the Apple."

A little surprised to have Machiavelli's support, Ezio nods at the man. "What do you suggest?"

Machiavelli hesitates, thinking, and Desmond, who had been following the exchange silently with Leonardo and the children, clears his throat quietly.

"I can strengthen Monteriggioni's fortifications," the old man says quietly. "But it comes at a cost – and with risks."

"What kind of cost?" Machiavelli demands.

"First of of all, gold," Desmond says, shaking his head while Machiavelli looks increasingly suspicious. "And some other materials, copper, iron, so on. And…"  Desmond hesitates and glances at Ezio.

"It will make Monteriggioni your Domain?" Ezio guesses.

Desmond brows arch at that. "Do you know what it means?"

Not really, but Ezio knows what it felt like, being inside Desmond's house when it was still his Domain – that blanketing feeling of security and protection. It was a little like being inside a fortress in truth – inside Desmond's house, one felt as if they were threading on the soil of a very secure kingdom. When Desmond said nothing could get at the children there, Ezio had no trouble believing him. But...

"You destroyed your domain in Venice out of fear of the Apple connecting to it – will that not be an issue in Monteriggioni also?" Ezio asks worriedly.

"It is," Desmond admits. "And I don't like the idea, personally. But there might be ways around it – and I thought I should offer it as an option," he says.

"What does this Domain detail?" Machiavelli asks, scowling in concentration. "It is a power you possess?"

"No, it's – more than that. A Domain is…" Desmond trails away and looks away, frowning.

"Well, there you are," a vaguely familiar female voice says. "We were staining to think you were too scared to get off the ship."

"What on Earth is the hold up, brother?"

Ezio turns around sharply to see a party of women and soldiers approaching the pier – and at the head of it there is Caterina Sforza, looking quite fetching even in mourning colours… and Claudia Auditore, who marches forward like she owns the pier and isn't very pleased with how well it's been tended to.

"Niece?" Mario exclaims. "What a surprise!"

"Sister – what are your doing here?" Ezio demands, shocked. He had sent word ahead, but... "Where is mother?"

"Mother of still at home, safe and sound – and did you think I'd sit by idle, waiting for your arrival? I came to welcome you," Claudia says to him, but her eyes are on Desmond – and the children. Ezio can see her counting them, her eyes moving from one child to another. "And your children," Claudia adds, her tone dangerous.

Giovanna hides behind the hems of Desmond's robes, glaring at Claudia fearfully while Matteo holds onto Desmond hand, looking confused. Desmond himself looks a little taken aback, blinking at Claudia with similar surprise Ezio feels – it seems even he wasn't expecting her.

"Quite the gathering we have here," Caterina says, amused, and looks at Ezio. "And you. When we met I thought you were something special, but an Assassin? And a father too. Oh _my._ "

"Madam," Ezio says, too distracted to be pleasant. "An honour – Claudia," he says then. "Did you leave mother _alone_?"

She gives him a glare. "She will be seen to – and Monteriggioni's gates are and will remain sealed until we return. I am not a fool, _brother,_  I know how to take care of my family," Claudia stops and then sighs. "Though I have been foolish in other ways," she says and turns to Desmond. She makes a curtsy. "I would like to offer my most sincere apology, Messere – for you and for the little girl. I acted without thinking, before, and regret my actions most severely."

"I…" Desmond says, looking a little confused. "That's – quite alright…?"

"Never mind that – Caterina," Machiavelli says, "are the Orsi brothers still in Forlì? We have reasons to believe they might be allied with the Templars."

"What? Since when? No, never mind," Caterina says. "Come. We have carriages waiting for us, so let us make for Forlì. It seems there is much to do and discuss."

"Of course," Mario says and looks at Ezio. "Nephew, niece?"

"Let's go," Claudia says in tone that brooks no arguments.

Ezio exchanges looks with Desmond and Leonardo. Desmond runs a hand over Federica's side and then looks down at the children. "I suppose we don't have a choice," the old man sighs.

"Nothing will happen, I swear," Ezio says quickly.

"Let's hope something hasn't already," Desmond says with a shake of his head. "Will you take Matteo? Giovanna, darling, stay close. Leonardo – I'm sorry, I hate to ask but –"

"I will make sure your things are delivered, and follow," Leonardo says, looking thoughtfully at Desmond.

"Thank you, my friend," Ezio says, picking Matteo up and settling him to his hip. "I will make sure you're  compensated for your time."

"Don't concern yourself over it, I would not miss this for the world," Leonardo says with a smile and turns to attend to Desmond things, murmuring to himself as he goes. "Domain, hmm… how _fascinating_ …"

"I'm doomed," Desmond sighs, as he and Ezio turn to follow the others towards the promised carriages.

Ezio looks down to Giovanna, who is holding onto Desmond with one hand and tugging at the hem of Ezio's robes with the other, and then looks ahead, to Claudia. Even her back looks foreboding. "I'm afraid so am I."

Lifting Matteo slightly to hold him more securely against his side, Ezio takes Giovanna's hand in his, and together with Desmond moves to follow the others first to the carriages and then to Forlì.

It's not going to be a short and simple visit, he fears.


	16. Chapter 16

Things are yet peaceful in Forlì when they enter, so whatever plans the Spaniard has and whatever alliance he has formed with the Orsi brothers, it has not yet come into fruition. Caterina leads their entourage through the city from the gates to the Rocca di Ravaldino unhindered, while Ezio sits in the company of his family and worries.

He's likely lucky that with Desmond and the children Claudia had not opted to join him in their carriage due to lack of space – she rides ahead with Caterina, no doubt plotting his dressing down. Prolonging the wait for it does not make Ezio look towards to it any more though – he'd rather get it over with.

Desmond sits across from him with his eyes closed, humming. The twins are blessedly still asleep, but Giovanna and Matteo are wide awake – and staring eagerly out of the carriage's windows.

"Are you feeling ill?" Ezio asks at Desmond's strange, distracted expression.

"I'm only checking," Desmond says and opens his eyes, turning to look at the windows. "Nothing new here, it seems."

"Nothing new?"

"Well. Last time I was here, I found Matteo, and then in Venice I found the twins. At this point, it's a very real statistical probability that every time I come to a big city, I find your progeny there."

Ezio blinks, taken aback. "At what point do you think I would have had the time, between now and the last you were here?" he asks incredulously, not sure whether to be horrified, offended or flattered about the man's faith in his virility.

Desmond smiles wryly. "You did come here just after I left the place, didn't you?"

"You really think me that promiscuous?"

Desmond snorts, glances at the children. "Well, empirical evidence and all that."

Ezio huffs, but can't really feign insult – or deny reality, when it's sitting right front of them. Giovanna looks up at them, frowning a little with concentration, but then she shakes her head and turns back to starting outside.

Ezio sighs and runs a hand over his chin. "I have no doubt my sister will let me hear all about it," he mutters. "I wonder why you haven't yet."

"It's not really my place to judge, Ezio."

"You take care of them – who else better to judge than the one who bears the consequences?"

Desmond smiles, looking down at the twins. "I wouldn't call them consequences. More like… benefits," he murmurs, stroking Pietra's hair and then, absently, reaching a hand to stop Matteo from falling off the bench. "I'm the last person to tell you that you did something wrong here, I like the results too much. Though, you know, maybe take a break for a while, until Federica and Pietra are a bit older."

"A break?" Ezio snorts. "Lord, you _do_ think highly of me."

Desmond glances to at him. "I could medically castrate you," he offers wryly. "If a break is too much to ask. Then you can go off to your heart's content without further incidents."

"Er."

"It wouldn't hurt – you wouldn't even notice it."

Ezio fights the urge to cross one leg over another. "I think I will attempt to exercise some caution instead, thank you all the same."

"Papa," Giovanna says in the tone of a child bored of adults talking. "Where are we going and what is that?"

Desmond turns to answer her, still smiling amusedly at Ezio as he explains what's happening to Giovanna.

Not much after that they arrive at Rocca di Ravaldino. These other carriages have already pulled up in front of the drawbridge leading in, and Claudia is talking with Mario while Caterina instructs her men – Machiavelli comes to meet Ezio, as he steps out of their carriage with Matteo in his arms.

"Caterina is sending men to secure the Orsi brothers, but chances are, they are already wise to our arrival," the man says. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to go and see? It would be more efficient, and if the Orsi are Templars…" then Caterina's men might not be up to the task.

Ezio hesitates and glances back to Desmond, as the old magician steps down from the carriage, Giovanna close at his heel. Ezio doesn't feel like leaving his family alone – but with Machiavelli and Mario there, and all of them safe in Rocca di Ravaldino… and then there is Claudia, who is glaring at him past uncle Mario's shoulder.

"Ezio, it would be better try to deal with a potential threat now, rather than wait for it to become worse," Machiavelli says.

"You are right," Ezio says and looks at Desmond. "But…"

"I'll take care of the children," Desmond says calmly. "You just make sure that the Apple stays on your person, Ezio."

"Maybe I should leave it here for safety," Ezio says, frowning. "Uncle Mario can keep it safe."

Desmond looks at him seriously. "Then I can't stay here. Mario can't control it – the Apple will try to take me over, and I'm not sure I can fight it and protect the children at the same time."

Ezio bites back a curse. "Is there anyone who can control it?"

"Yes. You," Desmond says apologetically. "Honestly, I'd feel better knowing you have it – it's the safest with you."

Machiavelli frowns but doesn't argue, looking at Ezio instead.

"Fine, I will keep it on me," Ezio sighs and lets Matteo down from his arms, from where the boy rushes over to Desmond. "But I am not sure this is good as a permanent solution."

"It probably isn't," Desmond agrees with a sigh and takes Matteo's hand in his, Giovanna already holding his other hand. "Thank you, Ezio."

What a weird thing to be thanked for – like carrying an object of great power is an unfathomable burden and not a temptation. Though perhaps that's what makes it a burden.

Leaving Desmond and the children in the mercies of his sister though…

"Don't let Claudia intimidate you into – anything," Ezio says quietly to Desmond. "Make her no promises and accept no offers before I come back."

"I think I can handle your sister," Desmond says, amused.

"So have many other men thought, and none have succeeded," Ezio snorts. "I don't question your strength of will – but Claudia can be tricky. Just – take care."

"I'll be careful," Desmond says, smiling a little, and turns to join the others with the wide-eyed, nervous kids in tow. "Happy hunting, Ezio."

Echo looks after him and shakes his head. Sometimes he's not sure if the man is terribly formidable or horrifyingly naive. Claudia had chased the man out of Monteriggioni once, after all – and by the sounds of it, Desmond had hardly put up a fight.

Well… whatever it takes to put off Ezio's own inevitable trouble with her.

* * *

 

It's several hours before Ezio makes it back to Rocca di Ravaldino. The Orsi brothers, who had been enjoying hospitality of Forlì without much restraint since they did the deed of killing Riario, had left quite a messy trail, but little in a way of proof of their dealings with Templars or any potential plans to attack Forlì. All in all, though, the good news is that they aren't in Forlì anymore – whether it was the arrival of the party of Assassins that chased them away or some other thing, it's hard to say – but for now Forlì remains in peace.

Rocca di Ravaldino not so much, for when Ezio returns, Claudia is there to welcome him.

"Took the first opportunity to slink away, did you?" she demands, hands at her hips.

"There was a potential threat I had to investigate," Ezio says in a tone he realises far to late comes out defensive. He has nothing to defend himself from. "Machiavelli and Mario told you of the Orsi brothers, didn't they?"

"Anyone could have gone after them," Claudia says dismissively. "It didn't need to be you. Did you at least find them?"

"No, they've left Forlì, it looks like," Ezio says.

"So you were away for no reason? Hiding now, brother? Or running away?"

"No, that's –" Ezio stops. "Can we not do this the damn courtyard?"

Claudia rolls her eyes but leads him inside, saying, "Caterina gave us rooms, of course, though you travel in bigger company than she expected."

"The children? Desmond?" Ezio asks, despite the risks there in.

"Yes, Ezio, the _children,_ let's talk about the children," Claudia says dangerously. "Are they all yours? You know this for certain?"

"... Yes. I know it for certain," Ezio sighs. "You can't fool my Gift, Claudia – did you see that they were set in comfort here?"

"Obviously," Claudia says with a scoff. "But brother – four of them? And the babies look barely month old! What were you thinking?!"

Ezio draws a slow breath and then releases it, looking away. Obviously, he had not been thinking. He had gotten careless, or rather he had stopped caring. And maybe at the time he had a suitably cynical explanation why, but they make for poor excuses now.

He was drunk, he was feeling wretchedly lonely, he'd been hurt and sought comfort without care, or he'd done something terrible and attempted to forget it… he'd found out the woman he'd once loved was engaged to be married and could not think straight…

None of them make for a reasonable justification. And truth be told, Ezio doesn't even feel like justifying himself, not anymore – not with what Desmond had said. Maybe in the eyes of most people he'd done something terrible – but the results are far too precious to call them mere _consequences_ of his misdeeds.

"I don't regret it," he says instead of explaining himself.

"What was that?" Claudia asks dangerously.

"I don't regret them," Ezio says and looks at her. "However they came to this world – I have children now, Claudia. I don't regret making them – the only thing I regret is not knowing about them sooner."

She looks momentarily taken aback by this, and they stop in the corridor to stare at each other, Ezio waiting for reaction. Claudia looks incredulous.

"You fathered four bastards with – with who knows what women, and you don't regret it?" Claudia demands then. "Are you joking, brother? Are you even thinking straight?"

"What exactly do you want me to say, Claudia?" Ezio asks. "That I wish they did not exist? I don't. I regret the situations they were born into, I regret not being there sooner – I regret that Giovanna lived on the streets and that Matteo was poorly cared for and hurt, and that Federica and Pietra were born sick and abandoned in an orphanage. But I do not regret the children."

Claudia looks like she doesn't quite know what to do with that. "... What about mother?" she asks then, quiet. "Do you know what this might do to her?"

Ezio sighs and looks away. "I don't know. But I will not abandon the children over it," he says. "I'm sorry."

"No, I…." Claudia trails off, and for a moment they say nothing, lost in thought. "That old man who cares for them, Desmond," she says them. "He makes for a strange nanny – and the girl calls him _papa._ Who is he?"

Ezio shakes his head. "That's something I'm still figuring out myself – but I don't doubt his devotion to the children. He's the one who found them and arguably the one who saved them – he earned that title where I haven't." Yet, he hopes. Giovanna calls him father, but it's more a designation rather than a title at this point – a name for the role in her existence, not in her heart. "Desmond had provided for them well."

"He's a man – and the babies at least need a woman's care," Claudia points out dubiously. "They are far too young."

"I assure you – Desmond cares well enough for the babies, they want for nothing," Ezio says.

"What, does he hide breasts under that robe of his?"

"Claudia!" Ezio says, a little scandalised by the mental image.

"Babies need to be fed, Ezio, and you didn't travel with a wet nurse, not that I saw – there were no women in your company. So unless the man does hide breasts –"

"Desmond doesn't need – never mind," Ezio says with a groan. "Where are they? I should report to Machiavelli and Mario that I did not find the Orsi brothers."

Claudia harrumphs. "This way," she says. "But brother, you might not regret the children, and I can stand behind you on that, as shocking as your sense of duty therein is – but in the future? Think before ploughing and planting your seed in every fertile field your come across. There's only so much room in Monteriggioni for fruits of your labours. Maybe stick to your hand for a while. Might do you some good, honestly. Most men manage it and –"

Ezio sighs. There it is – and now he's never going to hear the end of it, is he?

* * *

 

Desmond and the others are in a vast sitting room lit by candles and the merrily burning fire in a rather impressive fireplace. Desmond is sitting on an armchair near the fire, with Giovanna and Matteo playing quietly on a rug in front of him, Federica lying between them on her back – Giovanna is entertaining her by shaking her toy soldier above her face. Pietra is nestled in Desmond's arm, and he's quietly feeding her from a bottle while talking to Leonardo, who has some papers already over his lap – he's writing something down.

Uncle Mario and Machiavelli are sitting on a set of couches with Caterina Sforza, talking quietly.

"Ezio," Mario says, spotting him and Claudia. "What's the news?"

"The Orsi aren't in Forlì anymore, and I didn't feel the need to begin chasing them into the countryside," Ezio says. "They left behind little in a way of useful information, unfortunately."

"So it could be that they aren't a threat, after all?" Machiavelli hums.

"Or we moved too quickly for them to prepare for an assault," Mario comments, looking at Caterina.

"The Orsi are vermin," she says, dismissively. "And their loyalties are for sale – if I can buy them, so can anyone else. I will have the city guards watch doubled for your stay here, but the city's fortifications are formidable. We are quite safe here in the citadel."

"And the city, is it loyal to you?" Ezio asks.

Caterina's expression grows cold. "What do you mean by that?"

"Your husband was a Templar and ruled Forlì for years," Ezio comments. "In Venice, though the Doge is now on our side, the military still follows the ways of his Templar predecessor. In no place do loyalties shift overnight, and your husband died only recently, wasn't it?"

Caterina hesitates, scowling, while Machiavelli looks at Ezio with some surprise. Ezio gives him a wry look – liberating as many places as he had of Templar rule, he has learned something by experience alone, and the man needn't look so shocked by it.

"As far as the people of Forlì know, Girolamo and I were of the same mind in all things," Caterina admits. "And I have taken the mantle of Forlì's regent not only in his honour, but in his spirit as well – as such, the military follows my lead as they followed Riario's."

"They think you are a Templar?" Ezio asks with surprise.

"Oh, but darling, I _am_ ," Caterina arches a brow. "Or as good as, married as I was to one. Wife should always obey and support their husband," she says with utmost sincerity – and equal amount of poison. "Why do you think I had him killed?"

"... Well," Ezio says, uncertain. "I commend you for it."

She smiles, warm and amused. "For as long as I follow in my husband's footsteps, those that loved him will love me. And the meanwhile I can make things better for those that did not, and earn their loyalty as well... until I can get rid of the first. I won't deny that there are those in Forlì who might side with the Orsi, or with similar rabble, against me, but for now… Forlì is loyal to _me_."

The drama of gentle lords and ladies, by God.

"Well, in that case," Ezio says after a moment.

Caterina chuckles and stands up. "You are quite welcome to stay here as long as you'd like," she says and casts a look towards Desmond, who is just setting the bottle aside. "You and your family. I have quite a number of children of my own, I'm sure we'd all enjoy the… _company_."

Though she's speaking to Ezio, her eyes are on Desmond, which confuses Ezio for a moment as to which one of them her purring tone is directed at. Blinking, Ezio follows her gaze to Desmond, who is lifting Pietra to his shoulder to burp her, smiling gently as he rubs her little back.

Caterina smiles, patting Ezio's chest and then turning to Mario and Machiavelli. "I have matters to attend to – we will talk more tomorrow. If there is anything you need, don't hesitate asking the servants – they have been told to accommodate your every need."

With that she leaves, and when Ezio glances after her thoughtfully, Claudia slaps him on the shoulder. "What?" Ezio asks, defensive.

"Unbelievable," she mutters, rolling her eyes and turning to Mario and Machiavelli. "How long are we staying here, then?"

Machiavelli hums, looking at Desmond. "Considering that the threat he warned us about seems to be nonexistent…"

"I don't think them running away at the first sight of Assassins could be called meaningless," Ezio says, frowning. "The Orsi left for some reason. It can't be coincidence."

"All the more reason for us to stay here – for the Apple to stay here, where it is secure," Machiavelli points out. "Caterina is offering the protection of the citadel – I suggest we make use of it to study the Apple in peace."

Ezio frowns, hesitating.

"In Monteriggioni there might not be as much time, nephew," Mario agrees. "Not if we must worry about fortifications and… domains. This kind of security in the life of an Assassins is a preciously rate thing."

Ezio sighs. "I will think about it overnight," he promises and looks away as sudden baby cries begin by the fireplace. "Now excuse me – I think Desmond needs a hand."

Desmond probably doesn't need a hand – but he does have a small disaster in his hands. Pietra had thrown up her milk all over his robes, and the man didn't have his usual rag to cover them.

"Oh, Pietra, baby, is alright, it's okay, shh," the man is saying amidst of chuckling while the baby wiggles in his lap in distress, kicking and flailing. As Ezio approaches them, Desmond looks up at him and laughs. "She spooked herself," he says with a fond expression.

"Yes, throwing up can be a bit startling," Ezio comments, while Leonardo covers his amusement behind his hand.

"No, the throwing up was fine – it was the burp she let out afterwards that surprised her," Desmond says and looks down at his robes. "This makes for a good excuse to get everyone bathed though – I mean, if there are baths around here to be had."

"I'm sure there's something," Ezio says and looks at Leonardo. "What are you working on? Something important?"

"No," Desmond sighs while Leonardo grins.

"Conductivity," the artist says and stands up, his eyes shining. "Absolutely fascinating subject – I need to experiment with it myself –"

"Try not to get electrocuted," Desmond says with a shake of his head and stands up, Pietra still crying in his arms. "Can you get Federica, Ezio? Giovanna, Matteo, come on. Let's go find ourselves a bath."

Desmond picks up Federica from the floor, mindful of her neck as he swings his cape over his arm to carry her over it. When he turns, Claudia is watching them with a thoughtful look on her face, which, while not as alarming as the scowls before, is still a little worrisome.

"Your sister gave you an earful, then?" Desmond asks, amused as he tries to soothe crying Pietra.

"There were words," Ezio says as they head out in search of a servant to guide them to a bathing chamber. "Some of which I would have done better without hearing. I hope she didn't give you any trouble?"

"Only when I went to feed the girls," Desmond sighs. "I'm used to being able to do these things in the open, so it took some doing... but Leonardo and Giovanna distracted her enough that I managed it."

"It wasn't easy!" Giovanna says, frowning. "She's _nosy_!"

Desmond smiles. "She was only curious about the babies, honey."

"You – hid your powers from my sister?" Ezio asks with surprise. "Why?"

"I was actually hiding them from Caterina," Desmond says. "I wasn't sure how much you wanted her to know."

"Hmm," Ezio answers thoughtfully. "She's an ally, I think she's trustworthy."

Desmond doesn't say anything to that, frowning a little.

"Desmond?"

The old man glances at him. "She's a leader," he says with an odd tone of voice, weary and knowing. "I know her type – and I know what people like her, smart and cunning leaders, might do to get their hands on the abilities like mine… or those that possess them."

Ezio frowns at him. "Oh?"

Desmond shakes his head. "I need to tell you about the Golden City one of these days," he sighs. "Anyway, I'd rather she didn't know, if that's all the same."

"She… seems like a good woman," Ezio comments, watching him confusedly. "I'm sure she wouldn't do anything."

"She probably is a good woman – but she also has a city to run and people to feed, and I can turn inedible trash into edible food," Desmond says with a shrug. "Feeding a whole city is expensive. And I have been kidnapped for lesser reasons by good people before."

"..  I see," Ezio says slowly, thinking back to the look Caterina had given Desmond – and that was without even knowing about the man's powers.

Wondering, Ezio takes in the old man's features, wondering what Caterina saw. Desmond must've been a handsome man in his youth – he's not exactly hard on the eyes now either, and with the markings on his face…  but he is not a young man. So what might woman like Caterina see in him? Could she somehow sense the power hiding underneath the visage of an old man?

… though Desmond doesn't move like an old man either, does he?

"I'm not going to be making food for Monteriggioni either," Desmond says, giving him a look. "Just to be clear."

"What? No, I wouldn't ask that of you," Ezio says and shakes his head. "Is that why you didn't want to come to Forlì?"

Desmond hums, looking down at Pietra and rocking her in his arms, smiling softly. "Part of the reason. The other part was that the Orsi brothers have a habit of kidnapping family members for leverage."

Ezio considers his face for a moment longer, wondering. Desmond's features have always been noticeable because of all the gold – but suddenly Ezio can't stop seeing the face underneath the golden tracery, his features tired and aged and despite all the power he possesses… _kind._

A little uneasy, Ezio looks away. "Well, we're all here – I'm sure the Orsi brothers can't get us from this citadel."

"Here's hoping," Desmond sighs, and looks at him. "I would really like that bath though, the milk is starting to seep to my skin."

"Right, of course," Ezio says and clears his throat. "This way, I think."


	17. Chapter 17

Ezio was given rooms with Desmond and the children at Rocca di Ravaldino. It's not the first time he's been around them in the night – Desmond had not minded him showing up at his house in the middle of the night, so, sometimes, Ezio had done just that. Usually it wasn't for very long though – that one night he'd slept at the place had been the only indulgence he'd dared to give himself, lest he just used to it and end up spending every night at the house… and thus making it a target for his enemies. So mostly it was only for hour or two.

He'd not realised how often Desmond gets up in the middle of the night to attend to crying children.

The first time it happens Ezio gets up in alarm, ready for action, only to listen Desmond getting up as well and the twins' cries soon quieting down under the murmur of the old man's voice. Ezio listens to the murmur, separated by a single wall, until he dares to lie down again, letting the tension bleed out of him.

It is as if he only closed his eyes when it begins anew – the insistent crying out babies, again, followed by Desmond getting up, again, to tend to them. It's perhaps ten minutes before things are quiet again, only the unintelligible murmur of Desmond voice through the wall marking the other occupants awake.

Ezio closes his eyes and then there's a baby crying – and this time it goes on and on, Desmond murmurs doing little to quell it. Tense and anxious, Ezio listens to the unhappy wailing of one of his children, as it moves from the other bedroom to the hall and then to the sitting room. It sounds so wretched and despite his trust in Desmond's abilities when it comes to child care… it just doesn't stop.

Eventually Ezio has to get up to investigate. He finds Desmond is holding Federica in his arms, rocking her gently as he walks slowly in circles around the dark sitting room.

"What's wrong with her?" Ezio asks, alarmed. "Is she sick, is she –?"

"Nothing's wrong – she's just tired and cranky," Desmond says, quiet. "And also doing a poo, which isn't very pleasant for her."

Ezio frowns, leaning to the stone door frame and letting out a slow breath. Oh. "Do they always wake up this much?"

Desmond blinks and glances towards the window. The sky outside is lightening just barely – sunrise perhaps hour away. "This is actually pretty quiet, as nights go," he says, giving Federica a kiss and looking at Ezio. "The first couple of weeks they had different sleep schedules, so I was awake about twice an hour to feed them. Four times a night is about the way it goes now."

Ezio stares at him blankly for a moment as Desmond continues moving, continues rocking the still crying child. Then he looks at Federica, who lets out a wretched cry and wrings Desmond's thin nightshirt in her little hands, kicking at his stomach. Desmond doesn't look bothered in the least – he just holds her gently against his chest and rocks her.

Federica let's out a strangle little hiccup and then her pitch grows even worse, from disgruntled to absolute _dismay_. "There we go," Desmond murmurs and places a hand over her bottom, the golden lines in the back of it glowing the darkness. Moment later, Federica's cries start to quiet down to tired sniffling.

"Did you just use magic on her?" Ezio asks incredulously.

"I'm too tired to clean her by hand, so I cheat," Desmond says without shame and checks Federica's diaper. "All done," he smiles and kisses the girl's teary cheek. "And now it's time for this little lady to go back to bed, I think. She should be able to sleep now."

Ezio runs a hand through his hair, feeling strangely useless as Desmond turns to walk towards him – or rather, the hall behind him. "If there's anything I can do to help…" he offers awkwardly.

"I'm used to it, Ezio – and I don't need that much sleep. It's fine, you don't need to worry," Desmond says, giving him a look and then clearing a throat. "Um. Well then. Good night, Ezio."

"Good night," Ezio answers, still oddly put-off by the whole thing. Desmond walks past him and to the larger bedroom, where Giovanna and Matteo sleep spread-eagle on his bed while Pietra lays in the crib. Ezio watches as Desmond moves to put Federica down beside her sister and then turns to head back to the room given to him, scratching at his bare chest as he goes.

Considering how easy Desmond's abilities make everything, there's probably not much Ezio can really do to help there. Still, he's not used to feeling this useless.

Lying back down, Ezio stretched out his arms to clasp his hand loosely behind the pillow and wonders what it must like, sleeping surrounded by the kids. Desmond doesn't seem to mind, so it must be nice.

Maybe, once they made it to Monteriggioni…

He doesn't get much sleep that night – none at all, it feels like. The morning dawn foggy and cool, with low hanging clouds. Everything feels a little damp and unpleasant, and in the end Ezio gives up on sleep and gets up much too early after an uneasy night. The twins woke up twice more during the night – Ezio really doesn't know how Desmond has the energy to tend to them.

Ezio didn't even do anything, and he feels tired.

He takes the opportunity of the early hour to do some maintenance in his gear, as no one else seems to be awake yet except perhaps for Desmond. Claudia, Maria, Machiavelli and Leonardo all have their own rooms, so they are probably enjoying their night much better – only Ezio was given joint rooms with Desmond on the count of the children.

Not that Ezio actually blames the children or Desmond, he just – he isn't used to this. The idea that Desmond has been going through nights like these – and worse – every day without a single word of complaint, though… no wonder the man looks so exhausted all the time.

Ezio is just about done oiling his armour when Desmond finally comes out, fully dressed in his usual pristine white robes, with sleepy Giovanna and Matteo hanging onto his hems while he holds the twins in his arms. "Good morning," the man says, glancing over his work with the gear and humming. "I hope we didn't wake you."

"It's fine – and good morning," Ezio says, setting the rag he was using down and looking the children over. "To you as well, Giovanna, Matteo."

"Mmhm," Giovanna answers, yawning against Desmond's leg. Matteo hesitates and then lets go of Desmond and wanders over to Ezio, holding out his arms.

"I don't suppose there's food anywhere in here?" Desmond asks, while Ezio quickly wipes his hands clean and then picks the sleepy boy up.

"It's a citadel – everyone eats together in the great hall, I suppose," Ezio says, looking down as Matteo nestles against his chest. "It shouldn't be too long."

"Hmm," Desmond agrees and sits down beside him, the twins securely nestled in his lap.

Giovanna looks between them, rubbing her eyes. She marches over to Ezio and without so much at by-your-leave climbs into his lap with Matteo, all elbows and knees. And for once, Ezio doesn't have a shred of armour on him or any weapons for them to be concerned about.

Ezio looks at his two eldest as Giovanna sticks her thumb in her mouth and Matteo tugs at the collar of his shirt and then, gently, Ezio reaches out to ease the thumb from Giovanna's mouth. She sighs, disgruntled, but lets him.

Their weight in his lap is surpassingly pleasant. And Giovanna, she doesn't usually come to him. Ezio doesn't know what to do with it, he hardly dares to breathe.

Desmond smiles, quiet and despite how tired he must be, content. "We'll make a dad out of you yet," he murmurs, and while Ezio looks up with surprise, the man nods at his gear. "Would you like some help with this?"

"I'm mostly done, thank you," Ezio says with a shake of his head. "Though if you could do your magic on my robe, I'd appreciate it. I haven't been able to get it washed lately."

Desmond arches a brow and then, wrapping one arm gently around the twins' bellies, he reaches a hand for Ezio's robes, lying across the table. His fingers shimmer as he lays his hand flat on the cloth and with a strange hardly noticeable haze, like hot air over sun-scorched rooftop, the robe becomes clean, the brown and grey strains evaporating and leaving behind perfectly white cloth.

Desmond closes his eyes and hums, and there's another shimmer – only this time nothing seems to happen. "There," he says. "I made them a little dirt-resistant and hydrophobic."

"Hydro –?"

"Water will run off them," Desmond answers. "They'll keep you dry in the rain. My robes are the same, as are the kids clothes – makes it a little easier keeping them clean."

"Oh," Ezio says, taken back. "Thank you."

"I could make them tear- and bulletproof, probably, but I'd need more materials," Desmond muses and yawns. "Later maybe."

There's a knock on the door leading to the corridor outside the rooms, and they look up as a servant enters.

"Good morning," the maid says and curtsies. "I've come to inform you that breakfast will be served shortly in the main hall."

"Thank you, we'll be there," Ezio says and waits until the maid had left before looking at Desmond. "Machiavelli and Mario are pretty adamant about us staying here for a while – keeping the Apple here. What do you think about it?" The matter is bound to come up at breakfast.

Desmond frowns and sighs. "They're probably not wrong about Forlì being stronger than Monteriggioni," he admits. "But I don't like it. There was –" he trails away and sighs.

"What?" Ezio asks.

"History has changed a little," Desmond muses and looks down at the children. "Or rather, a lot. But Forlì was where you lost the Apple for the first time. The Orsi stole it from Caterina."

Ezio for a moment doesn't say anything, starting at him. It's hard to say if Desmond realises the implications of what he just said – or maybe for him those implications aren't so severe and earthshaking as they are too Ezio. They have been mentioned before, Desmond sometimes lets things _slip,_ and he'd admitted that he could, once, travel through time, but…

History. For Desmond, this is history.

"But here I wouldn't have to turn the place to a Domain, probably," Desmond continues quietly. "So there's that."

Ezio hums thoughtfully. "What would that actually mean for Monteriggioni?"

Desmond doesn't answer for a moment, looking away with a distant look in his eyes. "We called them Domains because it made sense for the time," he says. "But it's more like a Dominion, really. We drew out the Apple's influence so that we could affect larger areas – secure them and repair and heal them, eventually to build buildings and create a city. Originally, it was just… necessity."

"I don't understand," Ezio admits quietly, wrapping his arms loosely around Giovanna and Matteo.

"Domain extends power – and everything within a Domain falls under that power. In this case, I guess it would be my power," Desmond murmurs and lowers his eyes. "Buildings, streets, things… people. Everything within a Domain becomes part of the Domain. And he who controls the Domain, controls what's within it."

Ezio blows out a breath. "That doesn't sound so different from ruling a town," he comments. "Everything in Monteriggioni falls under the influence of my family – we own the town. Or do you mean that the people become enslaved?"

"Not… not enslaved. But influenced, yes," Desmond says and looks down at his hands. "The Domain seeps into you, becomes part of you as you become part of it. It's not something you can ever get rid of either – once infected, it stays with you forever."

"And _then_ you can do magic?"

The both look down at Giovanna, who's watching them intently.

"That… takes some training," Desmond says slowly. "It took decades for me to figure out how to do what I do. But – yes. Inside an established Domain it's… easier."

Ezio watches him thoughtfully. "And you could use it to make Monteriggioni's walls stronger?"

"If I made Monteriggioni into a Domain, I could turn the walls as hard as steel and diamonds, if I chose to," Desmond agrees with a sigh. "I could fill them with cannons. And if people Believed… I wouldn't even need materials to do it."

" _Believed_?"

Desmond shakes his head. "Yes. Faith. There's a reason why humanity keeps turning to organised religion time and time again and why Pieces of Eden all got tied to religions. Human Belief… it's a pretty powerful thing."

He looks utterly miserable as he says it, though. Magic and ancient technology, and Desmond speaks of it like it's the most shameful thing he can think of. Ezio watches Desmond for a moment as he looks down to the twins as if for comfort, his expression weary and wretched. Then he looks away.

Monteriggioni with walls stronger than steel is appealing, Ezio can't deny that, never mind the other things Desmond could do for the town. He knows medicine, philosophy, his near mystical _science_ and all that it entails. With them on her side, Monteriggioni could be _great_. But…

"Let's… talk more about it later," Ezio decides and looks down at Giovanna and Matteo, who are listening very closely. Might be better to continue this with the children elsewhere, anyway – perhaps Leonardo could watch over them for a while? "Right now I think we better head to breakfast."

* * *

 

The others are already seated and being served in the main hall, with Caterina seated at the head of the table. Some of her courtiers are there, men and women Ezio doesn't know, but the seats of honour have been left to her guests – Machiavelli and Mario sit next to her, Claudia and Leonardo near, with openings left for Ezio, Desmond and, he's relieved to find, the children.

"There you are, we were beginning to wonder if you were going to show," Caterina says with a smile. "I hope you found the accommodations suitable."

"I doubt anyone could complain over them, my lady, they were most satisfying," Ezio says, considering the seats.

"Oh, I _hope_ so," Caterina says, smiling amusedly.

Ezio hums. The seats are across from each other – four seats, two on each side. Either the children would sit by themselves – likely not a smart solution – or one of them would have to sit with Ezio.

Ezio glances at Desmond, who reaches out to stroke a hand over Giovanna's hair.  "Honey, go sit by your father," Desmond says quietly. "And watch how he eats – do as he does."

Giovanna makes a face but turns to Ezio and takes his hand, while Desmond takes Matteo and sits him down before taking a seat beside him. For a moment Ezio wonders – he has seen the kids eat before, of course, and they are perfectly well mannered. But well mannered enough for noble court? Ezio was raised on courtly manners and even he isn't sure he's fit for this place.

It's not exactly a concern, normally. No one expects an Assassin to be even seen in polite society, never mind behaving according to etiquette within it. Never had the Medici invited him to their table, and the new Doge of Venice only ever met him at night and in secret. Ezio is not one for public dining chambers, at all, high society or not, so he hasn't bothered to keeping his manners polished, exactly.

Does _Desmond_ know how to behave among the aristocracy?

A little uneasy with these sudden, _insipid_ concerns, Ezio takes a seat, and though there are some glances around the hall from the noble ladies and gentlemen and their attendants, no one says anything. Ezio sits with Giovanna between him and Claudia, and across him Desmond sits with Matteo between him and Leonardo.

"We were just discussing the fortifications of Forlì," Machiavelli says. "Particularly Rocca di Ravaldino."

"It was extended to the citadel by my husband," Caterina says, motioning around them. "Not an inconsiderable construction, as you can see. Of course, the city walls themselves are much older, but they have been reinforced to modern standards and can take blasts from any cannon anyone might aim at them."

"It is a very impressive city, and so is the citadel," Ezio admits. "Your pride seems entirely justified."

"I am considering some extensions myself, but for now it serves its purposes well enough," Caterina says, smiling a little.

There isn't much in a way of serious talk during the breakfast, not with Caterina's courtiers and officials present – but the fact that she's seated the party of Assassins so publicly at her table is a bit telling. A bit disconcerting too, Ezio muses, considering her talk from the day before, concerning her supposed status as a Templar. Surely, having the Assassins so on display is telling of her allegiances…

Unless, of course, that's _exactly_ what she's aiming for – to show her husband's supporters the change there.

"We have been doing some minor reinforcements in Monteriggioni," Claudia joins the conversation. "Nothing very remarkable in comparison to the city like Forlì, of course, but…"

"Not that Monteriggioni has seen much in a way of action in the last few years," Mario says thoughtfully. "Our strength lies in the number of mercenaries that have made Monteriggioni their home…"

Ezio lets the discussion pass him by, glancing at Giovanna to make sure she's managing the food alright. She's a little too small to reach the table properly, having to stretch out awkwardly over her plate, and with a quiet voice he asks, "What do you want, dear heart?" and she points at the food she desires.

Across the table, Desmond has taken Matteo to his lap – the boy is far too small to reach the table by himself. The old man is calmly eating over the boy, while Matteo munches quietly on a piece of bread. There is no way to look graceful with two babes in a sling and a three year old in your lap eating by hand, but somehow Desmond manages not to look entirely ridiculous. Still… it's quite obvious, many feel he does not belong at the table with their lady.

There are glances thrown Desmond's way, and murmurs behind open palms, none too polite, judging by the tone.

"So, I know of all of you, by reputation if nothing else," Caterina says, smiling warmly Ezio's way and then looking at Desmond. "But there is _one_ I do not know. Desmond, wasn't it? Tell me, messere Desmond, where do you hail from?"

Desmond looks up, and if he feels the pressure of the gazes aimed at him or the sly interest Caterina has for him, he shows none of it. "Lately of Venice," he says simply and smiles. "And before that, Florence."

"Oh, you are Florentine?" Caterina asks and smiles. "Like Ezio and Claudia? I thought I heard it in your accent. What did you do in Florence?"

Ezio blinks and looks at Desmond in interest. His accent _is_ slightly Florentine, though he's never noticed it before.

"I admired the architecture," Desmond says calmly.

"I meant as to your occupation, dear man," Caterina says, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you of the same… line of work as darling Ezio?"

"Once upon a time," Desmond says and smiles down at Matteo who is reaching for another piece of food. "Very long time ago. I'm afraid I'm a bit old for it now."

"Hmm, how interesting," Caterina hums, glancing from Desmond to Mario and Machiavelli, and abruptly Ezio knows what has her interested.

His uncle is not doing a very good job hiding his unease, and Machiavelli still looks a little suspicious when he glances at Desmond. They have been walking on eggshells around the man ever since leaving Venice, wary and suspicious and watchful. And Ezio can't blame them, Desmond _is_ strange and worrisome… and yet, he is caring for Ezio's children.

And Caterina is obviously wise to it, and curious about the arrangement. After all, what could make Assassins nervous about mere caretaker? Especially in light of the Apple, and whatever Caterina knows about its nature, and the nature of the Templars' potential plans with it.

Ezio clears his throat. "Have you ever been to Florence, Caterina?" he asks, hoping to change the direction of the discussion.

The look Caterina gives him is amused, but she allows it. "Yes – quite the impressive city," she says. "The Medici have certainly done well for it."

Thankfully the discussion veers that way, and away from Desmond - though there is a definite interest in Caterina's eyes. The discussion turns back to matters of Forlì, and the breakfast is completed without any alarming social blunders, though Claudia seems a little stiff by the end, though whether it is because of Desmond, the children, or Ezio's own poor manners, who knows. She's always been more keen about these things – but thankfully that makes her unwilling to address her issues in public.

But oh, there are going to be rumours and gossip in Forlì for days to come, isn't there, about the guests that the lady of Forlì had at her table, so strange, so uncouth. Lord, should they stay in Forlì for longer than a day, Ezio thinks he might beg leave from further public dining. He isn't sure he has the fortitude for it.

They retreat to a more private sitting room after – or rather, Caterina invites them to, "View the art gallery with me. It is quite the thing. I hear you're quite the art collectors, you Auditore."

"That didn't go too badly," Ezio murmurs to Desmond while leading Giovanna by the hand to the man's side. "I didn't think it would be this public though. I'm sorry."

"It could have gone lot worse," Desmond muses calmly, lifting Matteo from his lap to the floor and then checking the babies over. Pietra is awake, but seemingly content, nestled against Desmond's chest, watching the world with big blue eyes. Federica is fast asleep.

"You aren't bothered?"

"By what?"

Ezio glances around at the people, still watching them, still murmuring. Desmond is rather private when it comes to… well, _everything_ about him.

"Hm," Desmond answers, casting a glance at them. "Court flies. They'll forget us by the next scandal."

Ezio arches his brows.

"I used to run a high court," Desmond says and smiles. "And funnily strange individuals are more acceptable at the tables of leaders. Out in the street I might be a bit of a freak, but here I'm a _foreign curiosity_. It's fine, Ezio. Though if we're staying here, I think I'd rather just eat with the kids in private."

"I think I'd rather join you," Ezio mutters, and they turn to follow the others.

Claudia is waiting for them in the hall, walking only slowly so that they may catch up with her. "Brother," she says, falling in step with him.

"Sister dearest, how was your night?" Ezio asks, wary.

"More restful than yours, judging by the shadows under your eyes," she says and casts a glance at Desmond, who falls to walk behind them with the children at his side. "I didn't think you'd make an appearance at Caterina's table."

"Did you hope we wouldn't?" Ezio asks, arching a brow.

"Honestly, yes. You didn't exactly show to our advantage. You don't even know how to behave in polite society anymore," Claudia says and gives him a look – and it's not entirely disapproving. It actually looks more sad, than annoyed. Claudia sighs. "It has been a while, hasn't it? Since we dined like this… in public, together."

Ezio blinks and – ah. It has. Back in Florence it happened occasionally, back then Auditore were still high enough in societal standing that they could entertain and be entertained. Sometimes even the Medici visited them – and Ezio remembers, though only vaguely now, the balls and gatherings they were invited to, how their mother drilled them on manners and decorum.

It seems like a lifetime ago now.

Claudia still does something similar in Monteriggioni, but the town is small, and the Auditore are its only claim to any sort of gentry, and they aren't and never have been proper aristocracy. Claudia hosts the merchants and scholars of the town at her table instead, bringing the light of society down on Monteriggioni however she can, though it's faint compared to what they had in Florence… and Ezio rarely takes part in those parties either.

This breakfast couldn't be called a _party_ exactly, but now that Ezio thinks of it… it is a little nostalgic.

Claudia lowers her eyes and sighs. "Well," she says and almost visibly refortifies herself against the memories. "If you are now thinking of rejoining society, brother, perhaps a visit to a tailor is in order."

"I wouldn't go that far," Ezio mutters, casting her an uneasy look.

"I can hope," she says and casts a look behind them, at Desmond and the children. "Well, we may consider it in Monteriggioni perhaps," she says, pursing her lips at the clothes the children wear – which though clean, are a little… strange. Desmond's sense of fashion probably leaves something to be desired, in her discerning eye.

Desmond clears his throat, a little awkward while the kids all but hide behind him, but he doesn't say anything. Claudia sniffs and thankfully drops the subject there.

Together, they step into the art gallery, where Caterina is talking to Mario and Machiavelli, with Leonardo perusing the art with interest.

"… There have been no sightings of the Orsi," Caterina is saying. "Though one of the city guards did catch a footman of theirs, who says they left, riding west – and they rode in quite the company too. I doubt we have much to be concerned about."

"Unless it was a diversion to make us think they have left," uncle Mario muses, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "While they sneak back in, unnoticed."

"The Orsi are many things, but sneaky, I'm afraid, is not one of them," Caterina says. "Their methods are more… blatant than anything else. If they aimed to make a move here, I'm sure we would have already heard of it."

"Which is good news for us, yes," Mario says, frowning. "But it is strange. The Apple is _here_ – and considering the trouble the Templars went through to get it, why would they leave now that we have brought it here?"

"It could be that the Orsi have nothing to do with the Templars," Machiavelli comments, looking at Desmond. "We only have one man's word for it, after all."

Caterina picks up on that immediately, Ezio notes, and her eyes narrow curiously. "Indeed?" she says. "The Orsi were quite for killing Riario, they didn't even demand much money for the deed – strange thing to do, if they are on the same side. What proof is there, that the Orsi are your enemies?"

Ezio frowns at them – Caterina, Mario and Machiavelli are all looking at Desmond, while Claudia looks between them with narrow-eyed interest. Desmond says nothing, only arching his brow, while Giovanna and Matteo move closer to him nervously

"Why would Desmond lie?" Ezio asks, stepping slightly forward, in front of them. "What would he gain from it?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Machiavelli says, giving him a look. "But we have only his word that the threat even exists – and yet the Orsi have left, with seemingly no interest in us, or in the Apple. Does he have explanation for _that_?"

Ezio frowns and – he can't deny that it is a bit strange. If the Orsi are a threat – and he doesn't doubt Desmond's word on it… why have they left? Uncertain, Ezio glances back at Desmond – but the man is looking away now, back at the hall behind them, which leads away from the art gallery. Ezio frowns, uncertain – is he hiding his expression or –

"Wait," Claudia murmurs, frowning. "They rode west? In company? How a big a company?"

"Fifty men, perhaps," Caterina says, waving a hand dismissively. "Their little private militia. Nothing Forlì cannot hold her own against, I assure you."

Claudia blinks, looking worried.

"What is it, sister?" Ezio asks, uneasy at the mere sight of her concerned.

"I have… a bad feeling," she says and turns to look behind them – the same way Desmond is looking.

Then Ezio feels it too – a sensation of approaching _importance_ – just as a man rushes into the room, wearing Forlì's guard uniform. "Madam, a letter – an urgent letter, a bird just arrived –" the man says breathlessly and offers a small scroll to Caterina.

Caterina accepts it without word and quickly unrolls it, her eyes widening on the first line. All her previous suaveness gone, she looks up. "Monteriggioni has been attacked," she says and offers the letter to Mario. "The Orsi brothers have taken the villa."

Desmond closes his eyes with a sigh while Ezio shares a horrified look with Claudia.

" _Mother_."

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some violence and also hint of mind altering medicine use in this chapter

Ezio rides on ahead, taking two of Caterina's fastest horses and riding them to exhaustion. Mario, Claudia, Machiavelli and of course Desmond and the children would come behind him, as fast as they can in carriages Caterina provided – along with a small contingent of her soldiers, for support. Though Ezio doesn't much like it, leaving the children behind, there is little choice.

Re-capturing Monteriggioni is too important – and not only because of Mother.

Monteriggioni is where the Codex, now almost completed, is.

Ezio rides, thoughtless, through the day, giving the horses only as much rest as they absolutely need and switching them when one tires, trying to get as much out of them as he can without outright killing them. Still, it takes too long – still the horses are exhausted and still he doesn't make it there during that day.

Ezio ends up leaving the horses at a random Romagnan' farmhouse, and stealing two of their horses in replacement. They make for a poor replacement for Caterina's well-bred messenger horses, but the horses of the farmhouse are fresh and well-fed, and with little urging they ride into the night with him, continuing the journey which would have otherwise ended there. Honestly, the farmers got a better deal out of the whole thing.

In the end, Ezio reaches Monteriggioni in the dead of the night, with dawn hours away and with a sensation of _wrongness_ all about the area. The Orsi have been a full day in occupation of the place, and the very air feels the change – there is a cloud of unease and discomfort that lays on the fortress. Her gates are shut, her walls guarded by men not known to Ezio – and past them, smoke rises from the town, not much of it, but enough for it to be more than a cooking fire.

How the Orsi got inside with the town gates shut, Ezio doesn't know – he doesn't care either. He is going to kill them either way.

Leaving the horses near a way station, Ezio slinks into the shadows. Normally he'd greet the guards there, make sure that whatever horse he was using was tended to – but now he cannot risk it, the guard might have been replaced by Orsi's men. And the best chance he has of making this right is to get into Monteriggioni, unseen.

He knows from experience that you can't climb the walls of the town by hand – he and Mario made sure of it – and the gates of Monteriggioni are similarly Assassin-proof. But, if luck is on his side, the Orsi do not know of the escape route through the Sanctuary – with luck, the Sanctuary entrance was shut when Claudia left. Lord, let it have been shut.

Ezio opens the doors into the old mines beneath Monteriggioni and then, letting his Gift flare out in the pitch-black darkness, he heads in.

There is no one in the mines, the old tunnels and even older chambers are empty, with only sound of water trickling sounding through the echoing chambers. Still, Ezio makes sure to make as little noise as possible as he makes his way through the tunnels, paying little attention to their grand designs and history, though ordinarily he would stop to marvel.

He pauses at the entrance to the sanctuary, but it is empty and untouched, Altaïr's statue standing between him and the oval space beyond. No light, no movement, no sounds. The Orsi had not found their way in.

"Excuse me, brother," Ezio murmurs to Altaïr, and then eases past the statue and through the sanctuary, and to the stairs leading up. Ahead, he can feel the villa – he can feel the enemies within it. It is _covered_ in soldiers.

Coming to the closed door, Ezio presses against it and listens. There is someone in Mario's office.

"… make out a word. I don't see why it's so valuable," someone is saying, a male judging by the timbre of the voice. "It's all gibberish and shitty drawings."

"They wouldn't put it up like this if it _wasn't_ valuable. Just get it down and pack it away – carefully. Let's not give the old bastard any reason to get hissy," another says, this one also a man. "I'm going to go see about the paintings – some of those things have to be valuable."

"I thought we were being paid well enough for this?"

"Well, no one said anything about seeking out bonuses of our own, did they? Which reminds me, I need to see about that bank…"

Ezio grimaces, glaring at the wall inbetween and waiting until he's sure there is only one man in the room. Even then opening the wall is risky – it's not exactly a quiet thing to do – but with any luck, the man in Mario's office would be too busy collecting the codex pages to notice immediately…

Taking a throwing knife in hand, Ezio moves right to the place where the door opens and then triggers the mechanism. With his Gift active, he spots the man in the office instantly, he glows red. The man turns, surprised at the noise of the bookshelf moving, and in that moment Ezio throws a knife at him with all his power.

Codex pages spill across the floor, as the enemy soldier stumbles backwards, reaching for the knife sticking out of his throat in shock and horror. Ezio steps out of the stairwell and closes the door while the dying man croaks, tries to shout, fails – and then the man kills himself by making the mistake of pulling the knife out. A breath, and the man falls on the floor with a heavy thud, bleeding all over Mario's expensive Persian rug.

Well. It's a small loss.

Ezio hastily collects the codex pages, both the ones across the floor and the ones still on the wall, just in case. Better not let the Templars have any of them.

Now, to clear the villa. He can sense good half a dozen men in the place – and one of them glows golden with importance. One of the Orsi brothers, probably, raiding the art gallery for valuable treasures. Bastard. And there, in her bedroom just across from the gallery, is Mother – a blue shimmer, faint and frail, with two guards by her, one at each door to her bedroom.

Ezio is seeing far too much red in his house – far too much to be borne.

Flicking his wrist, he sets out.

It is probably foolish, taking on the occupying enemy force by himself – but Monteriggioni is his home turf, and he knows the Villa like the back of his hand, including all its hiding spots and shadowed alcoves. The fact that the Orsi and their men seem perfectly confident in their occupation of the town certainly helps – they aren't expecting an attack now.

Better keep them thinking that way for as long as he can.

The first two soldiers he comes across go down without a fight, as he drags them into the shadows and silences them before they can sound an alarm. The next man he takes out with a throwing knife, which alarms a fourth who comes to investigate, saying, "You bastard, did you find the wine cellar or –" and then that man falls to Ezio's knife too.

Ezio considers between the men in his mother's room, and the Orsi brother in the art gallery. If he takes down the Orsi, the villa would be his – but then the soldiers might try and use Maria for leverage. If he attacks them… the Orsi might escape.

Ezio chooses his mother, heading back to Mario's office and climbing from there to the second floor, thanking silently his eccentric ancestors for building the mansion so damn strangely, with odd openings between levels. He'd never thought about the potential reason for them, but now… they are certainly coming in handy.

The guard by his mother's door is facing outward, looking bored as he rests a hand on the hilt of a sword. The other man is across the room – Ezio can't see him but he can feel him. If Ezio kills this man, the other might be alarmed.

There's no way around it.

Still hanging halfway in his uncle's office, Ezio holds onto the baluster with one hand and takes out a knife, taking it by the blade and then throwing it. Though from the position he can't add proper force to his throw, the distance is short, thankfully – the impact is lethal, and the man falls.

"Odivio?" a man in his mother's room asks, and then shouts. "Odivio! There is an attack! Ludovico – there is someone here!"

"Shit," Ezio murmurs, vaulting himself over the baluster from his uncle's office into the hall and then runs over – just in time to see another armoured enemy grabbing his mother from her bed and pulling her, like a ragdoll, to him – to use her as a shield. The man quickly puts a blade to her throat and the knife Ezio was about to throw stalls.

"Stay back!" the soldier says. "Stay back or I kill her – Ludovico! Ludovico, it's the Assassin, the Assassin is here –!"

Ezio drops his blade, going for his bracer instead, getting ready to shoot the asshole. Somewhere behind the man he can hear shouting, clattering, and then a man shouting for guards – and when none come, this man being the only one left in the villa… the Orsi brother runs.

Ezio has to be fast. Quickly he lifts his bracer, aiming – but before he shoots, he looks at his mother. Maria's eyes are listing to the side, her face expressionless. In her hand, she has a slender, needle sharp stiletto dagger.

It is as if time has slowed down – without looking she moves her hand, aims the dagger behind her back, and pushes it past the plates of her attacker's armour, sticking the sharp point of the dagger in and sliding it home. Nothing about her expression changes as she does it – not even when the soldier gasps and jolts badly enough for his sword to slide across her throat.

"MOTHER!" Ezio shouts, his pistol forgotten, and runs for her. The guard drops his sword, either out of pain or surprise, Ezio isn't sure – he doesn't care. Maria lets go of her dagger and stumbles, blood spilling down her neck, down her chest – Ezio catches her as she falters and hastily checks her wound.

"Hold on, mother, don't move," Ezio says, touching the wound with a shaking hand and then quickly reaching for his medicine pouch. The wound looks terrible and bleeds profusely – but it only sliced skin, it did not cut deep enough to cut through muscle or sinew, or to slice her windpipe. "Hold on."

The enemy soldier stumbles to the floor and doesn't move. Past him, Ezio can hear the steps of someone running. Maria says nothing, does nothing, as Ezio presses the cloth to her neck, quickly wrapping gauze around it to try and stop the blood flow. Immediately the cloth turns red. "Hold your hand here," Ezio urges her, taking her hand and pressing it over the gauze. "Put pressure here."

She does as asked, her fingers pale, and finally she looks at him. "Ezio," she says, and smiles.

"Don't – don't talk, mother, you're injured."

"There are men here," she murmurs and looks away. "They came in the morning. I don't know from where. Where is Silvana? She was here with me."

"Silvana?" Ezio asks helplessly.

"My maid, she was here," Maria says and frowns, taking her hands off her neck and looking at them, blinking.

"Hold your hands here," Ezio says, taking them and putting them back on the wound. "Just keep them there, until the blood stops."

"Alright," Maria agrees, faint, and looks at him. "Will you find Silvana? I would like her to make some tea."

Ezio swallows and nods. "I'll find her, I promise. Come, come here, let's – lets get you to the bed, alright?"

Maria stands up slowly, and Ezio guides her to the bed, fretting over the wound for a moment longer. She's so pale, but though the blood has seeped through the linen, it is not leaking out of it – the gauze stopped the bleeding. She looks calm, too calm really, considering she's hurt.

"Do you need your medicine, mother?" Ezio asks worriedly, glancing towards the table – the usual dark bottle is there, along with the spoon to measure with. "Have you had any today, do you remember?"

Maria looks vaguely to the direction of the table. "It makes everything so far away," she says, patting the bloody bandages and sighing. "Maybe just some tea, I would like some tea."

Ezio hesitates over the medicine and then takes a closer look at her eyes, turning her face towards his. Giving her too much makes her much worse and he doesn't want to risk it, and yet…

Her pupils are wide - wider than they should be. She must've had a dose recently, then. "Mother, stay here," he says urgently. "There are enemies here, I need to go and take care of them. I will try and find your maid, alright? She will make tea for you. Just stay here."

"Alright, I will – I will stay," Maria says and lays back with a sigh. "I feel a little… woozy…"

Ezio hesitates over her, he doesn't want to leave her – but Monteriggioni is still overrun. He has to take out the enemy. The best hope he has is finding someone to send to take care of her, but if he can't…

"Shit," Ezio murmurs, glancing around. He quickly locks one of her doors, just in case, and closes the other – hopefully it would be enough to keep her safe for a moment longer. The villa is empty now, at least, that's something.

Monteriggioni itself isn't.

Swallowing the anxiety eating away at his chest, Ezio pushes his way out to the forward balcony, and vaults over it.

The Villa's servants have been pushed into the steward's house, which is on the same level as the Villa. There is a single guard there, confusedly looking around, no doubt having just seen his master flee the villa. The man takes up arms at the sight of Ezio – and then falls at his knife before Ezio breaks his way into the locked house.

"Ser Ezio!" the cry is relieved and comes from many mouths, as the maids, cooks, menservants and footmen rush out of the house.

"Where are the mercenaries?" Ezio demands. "How did the Orsi get into the town?"

"I do not know, Messere," one of the servants says. "We assumed they were fighting, or that they were taken out in the fighting."

"I heard that the gates were opened," another servant says. "We thought you had returned, Messere – but it was the attackers instead."

Ezio shakes his head. "No one of you was at the gates when it happened?" He only gets negative replies to that. "Fine – is there maid called Silvana here?"

"I am Silvana, Ser Ezio," a young woman says.

"Go attend to my mother, she was injured – and someone find the doctor, if he's alive," Ezio orders. "The injury wasn't mortal, but it was bleeding heavily, it must be attended to. Go now."

"Yes, Ser Ezio, right away."

The servants hurry for the villa, and Ezio turns to the town instead. He can see which of the buildings are burning now – which explains how fifty enemy soldiers might have dealt with the mercenaries normally stationed at Monteriggioni. They've set the barracks on fire.

Ezio takes up his sword and moves, turning to follow the trail left behind by the Orsi. He has all the advantages he could ask for here; the darkness as well as his home territory, and soon after, the people themselves. Unlike in all the cities he's lived in, here Ezio doesn't have to remain hidden, here the local militia is anything but against him – _here_ , when he kills people, the citizens _cheer_.

How fast the tide turns is almost alarming, as at the sight of Ezio people rally, and it's not just the remaining mercenaries. Though Monteriggioni isn't a town that sees much fighting these days, it still enjoys a high level of military presence, and with Assassins for leadership, it made the people somewhat overconfident – or perhaps, overly trusting, in their security. Ezio wouldn't call their untrained people _lazy_ , exactly, but… he didn't expect them to be able to fight, either.

But Monteriggioni is an Assassin town, in the end – and as it turns out, maybe it has an affect on the people. It seems like each and every one of them is armed now, from the wives of mercenaries to shopkeepers to courtesans – everyone has a knife at least. And with him at the lead, they brandish those knives without much hesitation.

"Take back the town, take back the barracks – and make damn sure these bastards do not touch our bank!" Ezio orders and the citizens cheer, roused up and angry in the night.

There'd be losses, that much is obvious – armed or not, they are still mostly only untrained peasants. But with people now fighting, Ezio turns his eyes after Ludovico Orsi and makes pursuit.

The man is trying to take a horse from a harried, struggling stablehand, when Ezio reaches him. "Give it to me!" the man shouts, trying to kick the stablehand, while the man's guards hover around, uncertain – and then they spot Ezio.

Ezio rushes in, very little plan in mind, very little finesse. He takes the first guard before the man can draw a sword, kicks the next on the ground and slices his blade through the man's neck, and then takes the third at a run, sticking his hidden blade in the man's neck. Ludovico Orsi gapes, gives up on the horse, and runs.

Ezio runs after him – and though the day of riding presses on him, as does the action before, his anger makes him push harder. The Orsi brother doesn't make far before crashing down under Ezio's weight – at the receiving end of his blade.

"Ezio Auditore," the man coughs, "is it?"

"Where is the other one?" Ezio demands. "Where is your brother?"

Ludovico Orsi croaks, spitting blood at him. "I wonder," he says and grins through blood in his lips. "Where could he be?"

"Tell me!" Ezio demands.

Ludovico's eyes turn hazy and he frowns. "He is getting – leverage," he says and coughs. "You rode on ahead, did you not, Ezio? The Maestro said you would, so very eager for a fight, so righteous. Now you are here – and your family isn't, are they?"

Ezio blinks. "What are you planning?" he asks and grips the man's hair. "What was your plan?" when the man struggles, he shakes him. "Tell me!"

"Children are such – a weakness, Ezio," Ludovico says and laughs wetly. "We thought at first to try for Caterina's, to use them to gain her husband's map. But then we heard – you have children of your own now, don't you? And a small town full of treasures, and no one to guard it, with all of you in Forlì. One would be enough – two quite the price. So I am here, to gain one – and Checco lays in wait, to gain the other."

Ezio's eyes widen.

"The Maestro might not gain his map or his treasure," Ludovico says and grins bloodily. "But what will you do, when he has your children? What will you give up… to get them back… Assassino…"

Ludovico fades away before Ezio can ask anything more of him, and with gritted teeth Ezio spits, "Requiescat in pace, bastardo," at him before leaving him on the ground, to stain it with his lifeblood. Then he stands, hesitating. In Monteriggioni, the fighting is still going – his mother is wounded and the barracks are burning. Who knows how many mercenaries have been slain and _how_ in _God's name_ did these bastards get through the gate anyway? Someone must have let them in – the potential security breach has to be dealt with.

But the children, Desmond, Claudia…

And yet, if he turns his back on Monteriggioni and leaves again, will _another_ enemy come out of the woodwork, to try and claim it? His mother was already wounded, and the status of the mercenaries is still in question – as is their loyalty. Though little in a way of damage was done and the walls are still whole, the fortress isn't in the best of shapes. If he leaves… would someone betray him?

The opportunity is there. All the Auditore away, and Maria in the state she is… who's to stop someone from claiming themselves the Lord of Monteriggioni and closing the gates on them? And maybe this upstart wouldn't merely keep his mother in her room – maybe this upstart would kill her. Maybe the moment he turned away –

Can he let that happen, can he just walk away and trust these people, these _humans_ –

"Ser Ezio?" the stablehand asks warily. "Are you alright? Were you injured?"

Ezio realises slowly that he's clenching one hand around the hilt of his sword – the other he has clasped over the satchel where the Apple sits at his belt. He can feel its power simmering under his hand, and alarmed, he wrenches his hand away from it. Sanity returns to him like the Sun breaching through the clouds, and – what on _Earth_ was he thinking?

"Get the horses settled," Ezio says to the stablehand – a loyal man who'd, with little in a way of weapons, had fought against the Orsi who'd tried to steal one of Mario's better horses. "Also, I left couple of farm horses by the eastward way station, once things settle go and fetch them."

"Yes, ser Ezio," the stablehand says, confused.

Ezio looks down at Ludovico Orsi's dead body and then to the eastward road – the one he would have ordinarily used, on his way from Forlì. Somewhere along that road his family is travelling in Caterina's coaches, and in company of soldiers from Forlì. And maybe they are travelling to a trap by the Orsi, but if he cannot trust the safety of his children to two trained Assassins such as Mario and Machiavelli, his sister, his oldest friend Leonardo, and above all _Desmond_ … then who could he trust?

World would be a sad and cold place indeed, if he could rely on none of them.

"Tch," Ezio scoffs at the Apple and turns back to Monteriggioni. "With me!" he shouts to the people of his town as he re-enters it. "Let's see about putting those fires out!"

The Apple would have to try better than that to corrupt his heart.


	19. Chapter 19

By morning the fires have been put out, and Monteriggioni is firmly theirs again. Of the thirty or so soldiers Ludovico Orsi had taken the fortress with, only five are still alive enough to be questioned, and they are eager to answer the questions at the pain of their own untimely death. And then, then there is the traitor.

As it turns out, Monteriggioni has been a target for spies – most of them mercenaries – nearly since Ezio and his family settled there. Many had moved into the fortress at Rodrigo Borgia's behest, and had been subtly trying to undermine the Assassins present ever since. Only with Claudia Auditore running the fortress like she was – the traitor had some choice words to use, for which he felt Ezio's fist – there was little they could do without risking being thrown out.

Claudia, Ezio is a little surprised to find, had thrown people out of Monteriggioni with a liberal hand, often and without mercy, when they got uppity or particularly rude. He had heard of some of the incidents – with particularly violent and arrogant mercenaries, a merchant who had fiddled with their bookkeeping, a husband that had beaten his wife near to death… Claudia had no mercy for people of ill nature. But the true extent of her banishments comes still as a surprise.

For nearly five years, none of Rodrigo Borgia's spies had managed to get in and make themselves comfortable, because their approach was wrong and her tolerance for failings nonexistent. At a smallest slip, Claudia would throw them out. Eventually the spies got subtler, milder, better mannered.

Now, the spy that let Ludovico Orsi's men into Monteriggioni is a middle aged man with a friendly face and mild manners, and if Ezio didn't _know_ he was a traitor, he wouldn't be able to tell. Somehow, he doesn't show up as an enemy even to his senses.

"It's nothing personal," the traitor says calmly. "You're not bad people, personally. The other side just paid better, they set up my family in comfort in Rome, and my loyalty, once paid for, is bought."

It's almost admirable, as much as Ezio hates the man. "Because of you, my mother was injured. Because of you, dozens of people lay dead in this town," he says. "Did you know, we Assassins do not keep prisoners? You're either innocent, and we let you go, or you aren't, and we kill you."

"See, that's why I never changed sides," the man agrees, almost sadly. "I don't like that. You're hypocrites when it comes to innocence and guilt – you justify everything in everyone you like, and condemn everything in everyone you don't. All the thieves and murderers you patronise – and then you go and butcher honest hard working guards and militia, most of whom have probably never hurt anyone and only know how to fight a practice dummy."

Ezio scowls at that. "I can tell when a man has wilfully caused the death of another," he says. "It shows up on them like a stain. And you are _drenched_ in it."

The traitor just shakes his head at that. "Kill me then, and be done with it."

It's worrisome, that the Spaniard had found men that could fool Ezio's senses. Whether they do it by self-delusion or some sort of zealous belief in their own right, is hard to say – the traitor doesn't seem quite all there in the head. No one is that calm at the face of their own execution. It's almost enough to make Ezio show him mercy.

But the dead of Monteriggioni demand their retribution, and that's what he gives them – and after he's questioned the Orsi' men, he kills them as well. Such is the way of Assassins, after all, and he feels no remorse for it – only a niggling worry in the back of his head, that… Desmond might have dealt with the situation differently, that he might not approve. He had never seen the man fight. Could he kill a man? Would he? In protection of the children, maybe…

Ezio teeters on edge of shame for a moment, and then pushes it aside and goes back to working on re-establishing peace in Monteriggioni.

They had not lost as many as Ezio had feared. Had the barracks been full, nearly a hundred men might have been lost when it was set on fire – as it was, only ten died in the fire, or immediately after, falling to their burns or the damage to their lungs. Most of the mercenaries had survived, though – there are dozen survivors from the fire who would recover, and the rest were spread across the town, in their own homes, or, more often, at the brothel or the tavern. It had left them scattered during the attack, and so the Orsi had managed to exert influence – and once Ludovico Orsi had the villa, Monteriggioni's loyal mercenaries had not dared to fight back.

"We could not risk Madame Maria," they say, wretched. "We all knew she was all alone there – and that Orsi bastard brought her out, told us he'd kill her… Messere, I'm sorry, but we could not."

"No, I thank you for it," Ezio says. "Though I wish this would have gone better, my mother is alive and the fortress will recover. In the future, though, the men who man the gates will be better vetted."

"Yes, Ser Ezio."

Morning dawns smoky and wretched, with Ezio thinking the logistics of twenty eight funerals. Monteriggioni doesn't have a graveyard, they had not really needed one before, as most people had roots elsewhere and when anyone died in the town, they often would be buried wherever they were born… but this many dead…

Ezio is talking it over with the priest of Monteriggioni's small church, when he gets the word – Claudia and Mario have arrived.

* * *

 

The party doesn't look worse for wear – except for one thing. They are all riding in a single coach, Claudia, Mario, Machiavelli, Leonardo, Desmond and all the children – when Ezio is fairly sure there was _two_ of them when they left Forli. Also, the retinue of Forli's soldiers accompanying them has been cut by half.

"There was trouble on the road," Mario, the first out of the coach, tells him. "I see whatever happened here has been dealt with. Losses?"

"Twelve mercenaries and sixteen civilians," Ezio replies. "And we have about thirty enemy bodies to deal with. I've had them moved by the Villa – the dead of Monteriggioni are at the church. What kind of trouble did you have?"

Mario hums. "The Orsi?"

"There was only one of them here – he's dead now," Ezio says and steps closer. "Uncle, what kind of trouble? Ludovico said his brother was setting an ambush for you, or something of that nature – were you attacked? Is everyone alright?"

"We are all fine," Mario says. There is a strange look about his eye as he turns to the coach. Claudia steps out, straight-backed and pale, her eyes hard. Machiavelli steps out next, his mouth drawn into a tight line – he nods to Ezio, but says nothing.

"Mother?" Claudia asks, her hands pressed into fists. There is blood on her sleeves.

"She was injured, but the doctor says she will make full recovery," Ezio says. "I'm not sure she now even remembers anything happened at all. You had trouble, Mario said – _what kind of trouble_?"

Claudia hesitates, pressing her lips tightly together, and then she looks at Ezio – and just by her eyes alone, he knows she's seen something, something she doesn't necessarily understand, but it's definitely had an effect on her.

"We were attacked on the road," Machiavelli says. "The road was blocked by a fallen tree and a number of guardsmen came out of the woods with horses – they attempted to separate the coaches, take one of them away. There was… a battle." Saying this, he turns to look at the coach, where Leonardo is stepping out with Matteo in his arms and Giovanna close at his heels. Desmond steps out next.

He looks completely unaffected, the twins resting comfortably in his white sling, all three of them calm. If it wasn't for the tension over Giovanna and how tightly Matteo was clinging to Leonardo, Ezio would think nothing was wrong.

Something _is_ wrong, though.

"Here," Ezio says, moving to Leonardo – Matteo is already reaching for him. "Let me take him."

"Your children have quite the guardian, my friend," Leonardo murmurs to him, while Matteo latches onto Ezio silently, but with a death grip.

"What happened?" Ezio asks quietly.

"The attackers attempted to take the coach we were sitting in – myself, Desmond, the children," Leonardo says. "We attempted fighting first, of course, as did the others, but the position for us was awkward from inside the coach, they managed to draw us away, and Desmond…"

"I _fought_ ," Desmond says calmly and takes Giovanna's hand in his. "And I don't think we should be doing this out in the open, do you?"

Ezio looks between him and the others. "I am going to need the full story," he says slowly. "But Desmond is right – the Villa is in a bit of a disarray right now, the Orsi were making to rob it, but it's better than the open square. Come on, let us go inside."

The others nod – Claudia is already heading up the stairs to the higher platform where the Villa sits. If she cares at all about the bodies lined up in the courtyard, she says nothing – merely marches into the villa. The others follow, and Ezio waits until only he and Desmond remain on the lower levels.

"Are the children alright?" Ezio asks. "Are _you_ alright?"

Desmond looks down at the twins and Giovanna, who squeezes his hand tightly. Matteo clenches on Ezio's cape and says nothing. "We're all fine," Desmond says, his eyes calm. "But I think we all need some rest."

"I've had rooms prepared for you at the Villa," Ezio says, taking Giovanna's other hand in his, still watching Desmond warily. "What happened, Desmond?"

"We were attacked and I protected the children," Desmond says and looks at him. "Which probably didn't look very… good from the outside. I think I might have scared everyone."

"You used your power?"

Desmond hesitates. "No. I didn't," he says. "Not that could be seen, anyway – I didn't want to risk it being seen and then having witnesses carrying the word about to back to the Templars, so, I… used other, less flashy means than just, you know," he wiggles his fingers.

"So… what did you do, that has everyone else so spooked?" Ezio asks warily.

Desmond smiles a little, almost embarrassed. "Do you know, I can make holograms?" he asks. "I can conjure images, things, that aren't real. Illusions, Leonardo calls them." He trails off. "I can make them physical if I need to."

"And that's what you did?" Ezio asks, confusedly. "What's so strange about that?"

Desmond smiles, almost sheepish. "One of the holograms I made was you."

* * *

 

It isn't until some time later, after they've gone through the house, Mario and Machiavelli have gone to investigate the status of the town and Claudia has retired to attend to mother, that Ezio gets the full story out of Leonardo.

The attack had came at the bend of a road, where the surrounding bushes had hid the fallen tree – cut for the purpose of stopping them – until it was right in front of them. The lead horses of the first coach had almost broken their legs on the tree, and the whole entourage came to a halt – and that was when they were attacked. Gunfire had taken out most of the guards, and while the rest were engaging in close combat, number of men snuck in, killed the coachman on one of the carriages, and attempted to make away with it.

"It being the coach in the back – the one we were seated in," Leonardo says. "I think it was mostly by luck – bad luck on their part – that the coach they selected was one with the children in it – there was no way to know on the outside which one was the more valuable one. In either case, they took it, surrounded it, and made to turn it back and get away with it."

The remaining guards had fought, Machiavelli had gotten on a horse and made pursuit, but it looked like the theft might be successful, in the end – the attackers got the coach clear, and were urging it on. Little more, and they could have gotten away – and Machiavelli alone wasn't enough to fight the five attackers, which were on or around the carriage.

"You know me, my friend – I am not much of a fighter," Leonardo says, giving him a weak smile. "I did fear that we would be taken, then, but Desmond was ever calm. He told me to mind the children – he gave the twins to me, and then he… made the illusions. Three of them, three men, which appeared as if from nowhere."

"And one of them was me?" Ezio says.

"It was you, but it was – different from you," Leonardo says, frowning. "The image of you was maybe ten, twenty years older, and the robes he wore were different, but… but yes, it was you. The other two I didn't know, but judging by the clothes, the hoods, they were all Assassins."

Desmond had not only conjured illusions, but he'd given them life and strength and power – after making them, they moved under their own power – or so it seemed to Leonardo at first. "Later, thinking about it, he always kept pointing at them," Leonardo says. "When they moved to leave the coach, Desmond followed them, holding his hands towards them – I think they were still connected, somehow."

Either way, the illusions had fought the attackers off – a three summoned assassins, one of them Ezio, combating the Orsi's guards while the carriage was still moving. Leonardo missed most of it, being inside with the children, while Desmond headed outside, climbing the side of it even as it moved. In the end, the carriage was freed and turned around.

"It was damaged in the flight, though," Leonardo tells him. "One of the wheels came off. Once the attackers had been stopped, we decided we couldn't afford the time to repair it – though Desmond did offer to use his power, but…"

Ezio shakes his head. "So, Desmond conjured illusions," he says, a little confused. "I don't understand – we know he has such powers, we'd known before, and he has many other abilities besides. What has everyone so uneasy about it? To me it sounds like..." he trails off. It's not a _reasonable_ way of dealing with a threat, but considering how badly Desmond can _glow_ when using his powers, using much less flashy illusions seems like a much safer option.

"Oh, it wasn't the creation of the illusions," Leonardo says. "Not that he made them, but – Ezio, they _spoke_. They were still there when the party rejoined – and they spoke. As if they were people – the illusion of _you_ spoke."

"What?" Ezio asks, taken aback and uneasy. "What – what did he say?"

"He addressed Mario – saying, he thought he'd died," Leonardo says, looking at him. "Also, one the of other men, Mario recognised the other – he said it was Altaïr."

"I…" Ezio leans back in his seat, frowning. "What? What does that mean?"

"I couldn't tell you, my friend," Leonardo says apologetically, shaking his head. "Desmond dismissed them before we could say anything to them – waved his hand and they dispersed like wisps of cloud in steam. But they were people, Ezio – not mere illusions. They had will and emotion, and the one of you, he sounded – terribly shocked."

Ezio shakes his head – he isn't sure he understands. That Desmond could summon people, he is not entirely surprised by. He'd felt the Apple's power, heard its whispers – he knows it can make one see things that aren't there. But what does it mean that he can attach _will_ to such conjurations?

"Desmond refused to answer our questions about them, only said it was the fastest and less noticeable way of saving the carriage," Leonardo says and shakes his head. He looks wryly amused. "Sometimes it's hard to look at that man and not think he's a witch."

Ezio hums in agreement, running a hand over his chin. An older version of him that spoke – and thought Mario was dead? He almost understands it, it teases at his mind – or rather, the Apple does. He can feel it – the thing could explain it, if he only let it into his mind to show him the way.

Ezio squeezes his fingers into a fist and stands up. "Thank you for sharing with me, Leonardo," he says. "I think I need to talk to my uncle now – why he could not tell me this, I would like to know." Claudia and Machiavelli hadn't told him anything either, and he'd asked. And it wasn't even anything so terrible as to horrify them into silence, so why had they not simply told him?

"Ezio," Leonardo says quietly before he can leave the room. "I don't think you feel it anymore, so let me explain. When Desmond does his magic, it wears on the mind of the onlooker. It's too surreal, it bends the will," he says and Ezio stops. "It's not that they do not trust you. It's that what Desmond does is… forbidding. Do you see?"

Ezio frowns and looks at him, confused.

"Do you remember, when we talked of him before, when you had first met him?" Leonardo says. "You could hardly even describe what he did. Outside his Domain, your mind quelled from what you'd seen, you could hardly trust your memory, it was that bizarre. It's the same for them now. They've seen – and their minds refuse to settle."

Ezio frowns, thinking back. He remembers it, yes – the dichotomy of being inside Desmond's Domain, and then outside it. Inside, it felt like blanketing security, a place where everything was possible and everything was safe because he was under the protection of someone powerful. Stepping outside, though… he was left feeling weak and confused and lost in his own recollections, hardly able to make sense of them.

"This power Desmond has, it has the same effect on the mind as the Apple does, I think," Leonardo quietly. "I think I have become somewhat immune to it, due to proximity. The children are protected from it, because they are always near Desmond and he loves them. You have the Apple, and that does… something for you that I cannot understand. The others have none of this, and so their minds give in its way, instead of understanding."

Ezio blows out a breath and looks at Leonardo. "Tell me honestly, my friend," he says. "How… bad… do you think it is? What he does, what he is?" How he affects the world and people around him…

Leonardo sighs, leaning back and looking down for a moment, thinking. "I don't think he does it intentionally, it's a side effect of what he is, like a smell of a sick person. He can't stop it," he admits quietly. "But he's also aware of it, and I can see him try to mitigate it. He tries not to use his power now, have you noticed? Now that he no longer has a Domain to do it in, he shies away from displays of magic."

Whatever that means, in the long run. Ezio runs a hand over his hair and looks at Leonardo. "You are the closest to him," he says. "Do you think he's dangerous?"

"He's without any question dangerous," Leonardo snorts. "But he is also the best protector for those children you could ask for. I'm not sure if he's bad or good, I'm not sure those distinctions even mean anything to him. If you're asking if he's dangerous to _you_ … that depends."

"On what?" Ezio asks warily.

"Whether you want to stay the way you are, or if you welcome the change," Leonardo says and shrugs. "Desmond knows so much more about how the world functions, and I want to learn – and with that knowledge I will change. I don't mind it, which is why I think it no longer affects me. I welcome the change. Fight it, though, and… your mind will be forced to bend."

Ezio bows his head. He'd felt it, he knows it – even without the Apple's whispers, he knows this. But are there truly only the two options there – either submit to Desmond's power and knowledge, or bend out of its way like a blade of grass under a boot, crushed down under the greater might?

 _No_ , whispers the Apple. _There are other ways._ He could make Desmond bend. That way he would not be able to affect anyone, and everyone would be free of his manipulation, if only Ezio enslaved him first. Then no one would be afraid, no one would be strange – all would be normal, and as it should be.

 _No_ , thinks Ezio. _There are other ways._ "Thank you, Leonardo," he says. "I think I'm… going to go see my children now."

Leonardo nods and gets up with a sigh. "If you don't mind, I will go and see what I can do for your poor art gallery," he says. "It's in a state."

"Be careful with them. A very good and wise friend of mine painted most of those," Ezio says, smiling.

"And if someone damaged them, that very good friend will be most annoyed," Leonardo agrees irritably.

Ezio blows out an amused breath and then heads out, to find Desmond in the rooms readied for the man and for the children. They are all congregated by Desmond's bed, the twins resting across the bedspreads with Desmond watching them, while Giovanna and Matteo lay beside them, listening. Desmond is telling them a story.

"… and because he understood the dragons so well, and because he'd gotten to know them as his friends and not his enemies," he's saying softly to the intently listening children, "The viking boy understood that the dragons didn't steal their things out of greed or malice, but because they were _afraid_ …"

Ezio hesitates by the door and then leans to the doorframe, watching them. There's still lot to be done, in the villa, in Monteriggioni, and he should go check up on mother and Claudia. He probably has to have a proper discussion with his family and with Machiavelli, talk them through what they're… having difficulties with. And all things considered, there's a very good chance the attack by the Orsi won't be the only one they suffer – Monteriggioni will have to be fortified against future attacks. Especially if one of the Orsi brothers is still _alive_.

For now, though, he watches a magician telling stories to his children, ignoring the whispers of the Apple – teetering on the edge of change.


	20. Chapter 20

After things in Monteriggioni have settled, the dead, the injured and the now homeless have been dealt with, the Assassins convene in Mario's office. Desmond, understandably, isn't invited – Leonardo, on the other hand, is.

Ezio stands by the wall where the Codex had hung, taking out the pages and starting to hang them up as they had been, while the others exchange looks and obviously gauge where to begin – and who would have the dubious pleasure of questioning him and his choices. The tension is still heavy in air, as it's the uncertainty and the fear – and knowing where it stems from doesn't make it any more pleasant.

Claudia is the one to speak first, in the end. "Ezio, who is Desmond?"

Ezio takes another piece of the Codex and hangs it up. He eyes the wall for a moment, and then looks at the others, all of whom are watching him. "I don't know," he says then. "He's told me very little of his past, I have honestly felt no drive to interrogate him on the matter. I know what he does, though, and I'd rather judge a man by his actions than by his past."

"And his powers?" Claudia demands. "Uncle Mario had told me things, things you've told him, things Leonardo has told him – Desmond can do things."

So could I, with the Apple, Ezio thinks and turns away from the wall. "The powers he had come from this," he says and takes the Apple's satchel from his waist and sets it on Mario's desk. "Desmond possessed one of these in his time, and using it changed him, gave him abilities. And if we're about to begin judging a man based on his abilities rather than what he does with those abilities…" then he's not sure _what_ , but it seems altogether hypocritical.

"He used those abilities to conjure spirits and kill people," Machiavelli comments.

Ezio gives him a look. "Most people in this room could and have killed more people with far less effort. Don't pretend that what Desmond did was in any way worse."

"You speak the truth, nephew," Mario says uneasily. "But what we do is still within the means of mortal men to fight against – if Desmond's powers are as great as we think they are, then… what can anyone do against them?"

Ezio looks at them, and they seem so small, so… stupid. Pulling his hand away from the Apple clears some of that, takes away the mean edge of it, but not the feeling itself. They are all so small, so afraid of things they do not understand. And Ezio is like them, just as small, just as afraid – but when they want to incapacitate what they fear so that they don't have to get it anymore, he understands.

"Uncle," Ezio says. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Of course not," Mario says, frowning. "What are you talking about!"

"I'm a better fighter than you. I carry more weapons, I am more skilled in their use. In a fair fight you'll lose against me – and I don't fight fair," Ezio says. "If I meant to kill you, could you win against me?" Mario scowls and Ezio nods. "So, are you afraid of me?"

"No, nephew. I know you wouldn't do something like that," Mario says and shakes his head. "But that is not at all the same thing. I trust you, nephew – I don't know Desmond."

"Then get to know him, instead of shying away in fear. I know him," Ezio says urgently, motioning at himself. "And I know he's more powerful than all of us combined, but I fear nothing from him because I know, he would never hurt anyone I loved. And I know he would stop at nothing to protect them. The things he'd done for my children – no man could do them, and most men wouldn't. He didn't need to, but he did it anyway, despite the fact that, should he be found out using his powers, the church would stop at nothing to destroy him."

There's a moment of uneasy silence, and Ezio turns to Leonardo. "You know him, Leonardo – do you fear him? Do you think he should be stopped, sent away, banished?"

Leonardo rubs his hands together and looks down. "No," he says then. "And I think sending him away you would lose more than you realise. His knowledge of the future, of science, medicine, technologies… the man is centuries ahead of us in time. You'd be throwing away the gifts of Prometheus if you rejected him now."

"We know he's knowledgeable about the future," Machiavelli says. "And I agree, it's an advantage we'd be foolish to lose. But his gift might be that of Pandora too, and we might be about to open that box with no way to shut it."

Claudia frowns. "Is that why he could do what he did – how he summoned that… apparition? Because he knows the future?"

Ezio draws a breath and tries to imagine a world where his uncle is dead. "Maybe," he agrees. "I mean to ask him, but before that we need to settle this," settle their fears before they completely take over the villa and made things difficult for everyone.

"Whatever Desmond is and whatever he is capable of, he's lived peacefully among the people of Venice for weeks and he's taken care of my children with kindness and gentleness, and for no reason other than because he could," Ezio says. "If that's not a proof enough of good character, I don't know what else I can give you."

There's a moment of silence, Claudia leaning back in her seat with a thoughtful frown while Machiavelli falls deep in contemplation. Leonardo looks at them with understanding and sympathy, and Ezio sighs – he understands too, and it makes him feel weary. Then Mario steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. "I trust your judgement, nephew. If you think Desmond is trustworthy, I believe you. But his powers still make me uneasy – anything you can learn of them, or of their limits…"

"I will ask him," Ezio says, nodding. "Thank you, uncle."

"What about mother?" Claudia says. "And the children? We're all staying under the same roof now, what are we going to do about that?"

"We can't keep them apart," Ezio says and frowns at her. "I want my children to meet their grandmother, I want mother to know them. Even if they are bastards, they are still my children."

Claudia hesitates and then nods, standing up. "We must be careful introducing them. Mother's mind is still frail."

"I know," Ezio sighs. "How is she, how is the injury?"

"The cut wasn't deep, thank Heavens – she might not even have a scar."

Machiavelli looks between them, a little impatient. "And what of the Orsi? One of them escaped."

"If he comes after us again, we will deal with him accordingly," Ezio says. "We have the Apple, and the Codex – we are no longer two steps behind the Templars. The next move will be theirs."

* * *

 

After he's sure everything is at least somewhat settled and no one is going to jump out of the woodwork to accuse Desmond of consorting with the devil, Ezio takes inordinate amount pleasure in hanging up his hood, his armour and most of his weapons and donning on something a little less militant. It's a rare pleasure he allows himself, not to wear even a strap of armour, but it's one he thinks he deserves now. It's been… hectic few weeks, after all.

Sadly, it's only to realise that he might need to visit a tailor – none of his doublets fit across the chest and shoulders anymore, and even his vests are a poor fit. He's grown wider with muscle, which he's not sure whether to be smugly proud of or embarrassed about – in truth, be hadn't even noticed before now. The Assassins robes are made a little looser around the shoulders for ease of movement while climbing, so the fact that he can only do only the lowest buttons in his vest is a little embarrassing.

Still. It's nice to set down the arms for a bit, and just _be,_ without worrying about having to fight. And it's nice, feeling like… like he could walk down a street and no one would shy away and fear him. Ezio feels positively _ordinary_ – half done vest aside.

When he appears dressed thusly at Desmond's door, he does not expect the reaction he gets.

Matteo is the one who opens the door, smiling eagerly and then stopping to stare at him, confused and frozen. The boy doesn't move, and with a start, Ezio realises that Matteo doesn't quite recognise him.

"It's me, Matteo," he says and crouches down. "I only changed clothes – see, it's only me."

Frowning, the boy peers at his face suspiciously – then his expression brightens and he throws himself into Ezio's arms. Grinning, Ezio stands up with his son in his arms and looks up.

Giovanna is eying him suspiciously – like she isn't sure how well she likes it. Desmond is standing by a crib, which Ezio is sure wasn't there before – the man is gaping at him, looking stunned.

"I don't look _that_ strange, do I?" the Assassin asks, sheepish.

"No, I – just –" Desmond stops, blinking and then shakes his head. "I didn't know you – wore normal clothes. Clothes that aren't your robes, I mean."

"It's rare, but sometimes even I let down my hair," Ezio snorts. "I thought you might want a tour around the villa? And maybe to meet my mother, later – you and the children," he says and gives Matteo a little bounce. "You should know where everything is, at least."

"I – yeah, that would be nice," Desmond says, still looking a little taken aback. It's kind of nice, having shocked the old magician for once – and it's hilarious that what it took, in the end, was just Ezio changing his clothes. Such power, and it's an ill-fitting vest that takes him by surprise.

"The twins?" Ezio asks.

Desmond looks down to the crib and then nods in agreement, going to fetch his sling. While Giovanna gets up from where she's been playing, Desmond wraps the long stretch of cloth around his torso, fitting first Federica and then Pietra snugly into its folds. After checking the babies over, Desmond nods and turns to follow Ezio out.

Though the Auditore villa in Monteriggioni has been a home for him and his family for ten years now, Ezio had never been truly happy there. The place is a reminder of a home they'd lost, life that had been taken from them – it had been more a hiding place than home, to Ezio. It had never felt like this.

Something settles in him, as he shows the dining hall, the kitchens, the art gallery, the sitting room and Mario's office to Desmond and the children. The kids look around, wide-eyed with wonder and yet a little hesitant.

"How long are we going to stay here?" Giovanna asks warily.

"How long – forever, I should hope," Ezio says, looking down at her. "This is my home, dear heart – I was hoping it would be yours too." He looks at Desmond, who is looking around with the strangest look of nostalgia and longing. "Why would you _not_ stay?" Ezio asks worriedly.

Desmond doesn't answer immediately, looking around in the armoury. "Well," he says. "This place needs childproofing."

"What?" Ezio asks, confused.

"Ezio, you can't have deadly weapons lying out in the open with two kids running around," the man says pointedly. "Never mind when Pietra and Federica begin walking and poking at everything shiny. At the very least, the blades will have to be lifted higher and out of the children's reach."

"We wouldn't take them!" Giovanna says, insulted.

Desmond gives her a look. "Like you didn't take glass shards, last time? Just wait for a slow and boring day, and playing with blades and swords like daddy does will look like just the thing – and then we're left with missing fingers and crying kids."

Ezio's eyes widen. Good lord. "I – I will make sure the weapons are secured in places where the kids can't get them," he promised quickly.

Desmond smiles at that. "Good choice."

And then there is mother. Ezio and Claudia arrange the meeting carefully in one of the sitting rooms, where Maria sometimes does embroidery. This day looks to be a good day for her, despite the recent injury – she's in a good mood, and her speech is more sensible than usually – she even remarks that, "It's so nice that you are home, Ezio, it's good to have everyone home for once."

Claudia is sitting by her, her eyes watchful and cautious, while Ezio leads Desmond and the children in. Giovanna and Matteo both huddle around Desmond nervously, looking between Claudia, who still makes Giovanna frown, and Ezio warily.

"Remember now, Ezio's mama isn't well," Desmond whispers to them. "So be very patient with her."

How serious and understanding both Giovanna and Matteo are as they nod breaks Ezio's heart a little, but he pushes through it and walks over to his mother. "Hello, mother," he says and presses a kiss to her cheek. "There are some people here I would like you to meet. Do you feel up to saying hello?"

Maria hums and touches the lapels of his vest. "I'm always interested in meeting you friends, Ezio," she says. "Even the ones you fuck."

Ezio freezes for a moment at that, while Claudia sighs and Desmond clears his throat. "Yes, well – these aren't just friends. These are family," Ezio says and motions the kids to come forward. Matteo clings to Desmond, but Giovanna, brave little Giovanna, takes the plunge with little hesitation, steering forward. Ezio takes her by the shoulders and gives her a reassuring squeeze.

"Mother, this is Giovanna – she's my oldest daughter," Ezio says, watching his mother carefully for a reaction.

Maria smiles at him distractedly and then looks at the girl. Her smile slips a little, and it looks like she's trying to remember – trying to think.

"Hello," Giovanna says, even though she's so nervous she's almost shaking. "Are you father's mama?"

"I –" Maria says, concentrating. "Hello?"

Ezio feels his stomach drop.

Claudia shifts where she's sitting. "Mother, are you feeling alright?"

"I have forgotten something – I thought I," Maria murmurs and then she shakes her head and looks down at Giovanna. "You are a very pretty little thing."

"Thank you?" Giovanna says, hesitant.

Ezio clears his throat. "There are others, Mother. Matteo?" he asks.

Desmond is watching Maria with a considering look, when the boy, very uncertain, detaches from him and runs over to Ezio instead. Ezio gathers the boy to his arms to show his mother.

"This is Matteo, he's my son."

Maria doesn't seem to understand – or rather, her attention is straying away from understanding, and she smiles at the children like she isn't sure why they are here but will be nice because it's polite. "I remember when you were so small, Ezio," she murmurs. "And climbing the furniture – your father had to nail the bookshelves into the walls to keep them from falling over."

"That's – that's nice, mother," Ezio says, smiling painfully. "There's two more I would like you to meet."

"Ezio," Desmond says quietly. "May I?"

Ezio draws a breath and nods, pulling nervous Giovanna back with him. Claudia watches Desmond closely, as the old man crouches down in front of their mother, watching her face while Maria looks at him.

"Oh, how beautiful," she says. "You have sunbeams on your face."

"You, my poor woman, are drugged up to your gills, aren't you?" Desmond says, and while Claudia's hackles go almost visibly up, he holds out a hand. "Hello, Maria, would you give me your hand?"

"Oh, my," she titters and complies. Desmond takes her thin fingers gently in his golden ones and holds them for a moment, concentrating.

"What are you doing?" Claudia demands.

"What are you giving her?" Desmond asks, giving Maria a gentle smile. "Whatever it is, the dosage is way too high. Her body temperature is low and her heartbeat arrhythmic. Dilated pupils, confusion, probably hallucinations too, inability to concentrate – memory problems too?" he asks, and Claudia and Ezio both just stare at him. "How about constipation, and is she sensitive to light?"

Claudia glances at the tightly closed curtains, uncertain and Ezio had a sudden, worrying suspicion...

"Sounds like anticholinergic syndrome," Desmond says and looks at Claudia. "Her medicine probably has belladonna in it, doesn't it?"

"How do you know that?" Claudia asks, her eyes wide.

"She has the symptoms," Desmond says. "Could I take a look at the medicine, please?"

Ezio and Claudia share a look, and through Claudia is still obviously suspicious and looks maybe a little offended, she's not stupid. She simply gets up and gets the medicine.

Desmond considers the bottle and then the children. "Ezio, take Federica and Pietra – I don't want to risk exposing them to whatever this is."

"Yes, of course," Ezio says and Claudia steps forward, saying, "Here, let me."

Together, they take the twins and then watch, Claudia holding Pietra with a strange look on her face, as Desmond steps aside to check the medicine. He only dips his finger in the bottle, enough to wet the tip of it in the medicine and rub it between his fingers.

"Belladonna, hellebore, opium…" he murmurs, considering the fingers. "Or I guess it's laudanum… what is the dose?"

"One spoonful after breakfast every day," Claudia says.

Desmond looks at her for a very long moment. "That's – way too much," he says quietly, and how carefully he's _not_ reacting makes the whole thing seem all the more urgent. "What does she need this medicine for?"

"Are you a doctor?" Claudia asks, casting a look at Ezio.

"I'm _very_ good at chemistry. What does she take this stuff for?"

"... Hysteria," Claudia admits, begrudgingly.

"She – mother wasn't the same after we lost our father and brothers," Ezio explains. "She suffered fits, panic, delirium – the doctor diagnosed her with hysteria and prescribed the medicine, and it's helped –"

"She didn't ever recover – and whenever we try to change the medicine, she quickly grows worse," Claudia  says angrily. "This one has been the best for her."

"I bet," Desmond says. "With this much opium after this long – she's gotta be hopelessly addicted to this stuff. Change it, and she'll go into withdrawal – which, yes, would make her a lot worse. And in the meanwhile, the toxins from the belladonna wreck havoc on her system, and the hellebore definitely doesn't help." He considers the bottle and shakes his head. "If I'd were you, I'd wean her off it, as soon as possible."

Ezio shares a look with Claudia. She draws a breath, looking frustrated and angry. "How?" she asks through gritted teeth.

"Cut the dose in half – or better yet, switch to just laudanum without any belladonna in it, and then wean her off from that. Half a dose for a week or two, and then halve it again and then again, until you're left with nothing to give," Desmond says. "And once she's off the drugs and her system is clean, if she's still sick, let me make the medicine for her – I promise, I'll make something that won't poison her."

He looks at Maria, who is looking at them and trying to keep up with the conversation, but she's obviously not following. "It won't be pretty," Desmond warns them grimly. "But I don't think it can do any more harm than the medicine is already doing."

Ezio rocks uneasy Federica in his arms and looks at Claudia, who is chewing on her lip. "Sister," he says quietly. "He cured the twins of _syphilis._ "

Claudia blows out a breath. "You can make medicine," she says then.

"Yes," Desmond agrees.

"Is there a better alternative to laudanum? Could you make it?"

The old man frowns, hesitating. "Will you let me analyse her?"

"What does that mean?"

Desmond wiggles his golden fingers. "I will touch her and study the composition of her body down to molecular level, to determine the buildup of toxins in her system and how to best wean her off and counteract their effects and side effects. Then I will know better if there's an alternative I could offer for her."

Claudia hesitates and then nods, and while Maria looks between them in a vague confusion, Desmond lays a hand on her head and strokes his golden fingertips into her hair. The lines on Desmond's skin begin to glow.

Ezio looks at Claudia, watching the fear and determination fight for dominance – determination wins, and she stands her ground, waiting for Desmond's verdict.

"Papa is going to make her better," Giovanna says determinedly. "Papa can make anything better."

Ezio looks down at her and then at Desmond, his eyes shut and his old, gold-lined face calm. The glow, Ezio thinks, grows a little stronger – then it fades.

"It will take six weeks for her to go through the complete detox," the magician says then and smiles down to Maria. "You are going to feel much better soon, Maria."

"That's nice," she says, looking amused. "Who are you again?"

"I guess I'm your doctor," Desmond says simply and looks at Claudia and Ezio. "I'm going to need a bottle of laudanum to make her the drugs she needs – she's still going to need to be weaned off, slowly, over the course of the next six weeks. Going off cold turkey might kill her, so… better be careful. But I _will_ make it better for her."

"I… will get you the laudanum," Claudia says, looking down to Maria. "But if you are lying to us –"

"I'm sure there will be a long line of people ready to make me pay," Desmond agrees and takes Pietra back from her. "Sorry sweetheart, you're going to wait a little longer to meet grandmama – come here…"

Claudia wipes her eyes and then sits beside their mother, taking her hand. "Isn't this exciting, mother?" she asks. "Ezio is here to stay with his family, isn't it nice?"

"Yes, nice," Maria agrees. "It's always nice when Ezio is home, he's always away…."

Ezio swallows, looking between his mother, his sister and then Desmond. "Thank you," he whispers, as he hands Federica back. "Desmond, I don't even know how – just, _thank you_."

"Don't thank me," Desmond smiles, while easing Federica back into the folds of the sling. "Help me to set up a laboratory – preferably somewhere the kids won't be able to easily get in."

Ezio picks Matteo and Giovanna up, kissing both their cheeks, shaky and giddy with hope. "I have just the place."


	21. Chapter 21

Desmond sets up his laboratory in Ezio's old room in the tower, where even the servants aren't allowed to go and wherein the children can't easily get. In the meanwhile, Ezio goes about… _childproofing_ the villa. With the help of the servants, the weapons gallery is redecorated and everything that's in the arm's reach of a sneaky three or six year olds is moved up on the higher shelves or placed in locked chests, pending the making of better display cases.

"Or you could just get rid of the whole collection, the only thing it does is get in the way," Claudia says. "And we could turn the space back into a ballroom."

"Do you know how much money I have put into this collection?" Ezio asks, offended.

She sighs. "Regrettably, yes. You could at least think of moving it down, into the Sanctuary."

"Where no one can see and admire it?" Ezio asks. "You can still have gatherings here – the collection is only decoration, it's in no one's way. It gives people things to talk about, surely? Besides, we're Assassins, this is our fortress – what else would you decorate the walls with? We already have a the gallery and a library."

Claudia considers him. "How about paintings of our family, for one?" she suggests. "We have a bigger one now, after all – and we have a resident artist underfoot too, and I think he's planning to set up an easel in my office. Might as well make use of him."

Isn't _that_ an idea?

The mention of the Sanctuary reminds Ezio of something, namely his promise to let Desmond leave his message there. So far the man hadn't been in much of a hurry to leave his mark on the villa, he's more concerned with helping the children settle in, watching over them and now making medicine… the latter, which, granted, didn't take him long.

It took him less than a day to produce a small glass phial of small white pellets, for mother.

"Two every twelve hours for a week," he says to Claudia. "They're basically laudanum, but with some other things thrown in, to help with digestion and to give her vitamins and minerals she needs."

"Which are?" Claudia asks impatiently.

"... You could call them the concentrated aspects of various foods, I guess," Desmond says, scratching at his beard. "There's a lot of separate things in the stuff we eat which we need to survive, and your mother is lacking some of those things. Not because you don't feed her well," he adds quickly before Claudia can get offended, "but because her digestive system is having a hard time absorbing them. Either way, this should help her there."

Claudia rattles the bottle of pellets, scowling. "Leonardo told me you cured the twins of syphilis in a burst of light. Can't you do the same with mother?"

"What the twins had was very different than what's making your mother sick. I could force the toxins out of your mother's body, yes," Desmond agrees. "But it's not a pleasant or easy experience, and Maria is weakened. I don't want to risk giving her a heart attack. Sometimes, I'm afraid, the slow way is better."

It's nowhere the last time Claudia demands answers or explanations from the old man – Ezio knows that while he's away, inspecting the repairs to the barracks or something of that nature, Claudia and Desmond talk medicine and anatomy with Leonardo, subjects which within first few days go completely beyond Ezio's understanding. The Apple attempts to make him jealous of it, whispering that Desmond is stealing his loved ones away from him – but with Matteo sitting on his shoulders and Giovanna holding his hand as he views the construction site, Ezio pays it very little mind.

"Daddy?" Giovanna asks quietly, looking uneasy, looking around at the workers who are hauling in new support beams.

"Yes, dear heart?"

"Are we rich?"

Ezio blinks and looks down at her. "Um. I – wouldn't say that, really, it's a bit arrogant to just say it, but we're – we're fairly well off, yes."

"... Huh," she says and looks up. "Are we going to be horrible people?"

"What makes you asks that?" Ezio asks in alarm. "I don't think we're horrible people."

"All the rich people in Florence were mean."

… right. She used to live on the streets – begging for money. "Oh, darling," Ezio says and crouches down to pick her up, holding Matteo's hand with his other hand to make sure the boy stays stable on his shoulders. "We are absolutely _not_ going to be horrible people," Ezio says, holding Giovanna against his side. "Having money doesn't make you good or bad any more than not having it does – it's what you do with it that matters. And right now I'm paying and supervising the repair of these barracks, so that our men have a place to sleep in, when they need it. Is that bad?"

Giovanna frowns with concentration. "I don't know," she admits.

"Alright. How about I show you around and explain what we do with money we have?"

It ends up being quite the lesson about small town economics, but Giovanna follows it intently, obviously pressing everything into memory. Ezio has a feeling Desmond is going to end up at the receiving end of a lot of questions afterwards, but – so as long as his daughter doesn't worry about them being bad, Ezio is happy.

The whole thing endears Giovanna to Claudia in no time, though. Mario, while not as openly suspicious or cautious of Desmond as Claudia, is slower to come around to the kids. That's mostly because he and Machiavelli are busy coordinating Assassins and figuring out what the Spaniard might be doing next – and whether another attack on Monteriggioni might be in the works. Machiavelli leaves eventually, saying he'd head to Florence by the way of Forlì and gather more information.

"I will attempt to see what Checco Orsi might be up to, and whether he'll be seeking revenge for his brother's death," Machiavelli says. "I wish you well here, whatever you will be doing."

The man still doesn't seem to approve of Desmond, but he's not so vocal about his disapproval, having viewed Desmond's treatment of Maria and listened to some of the discussions.

"Safe travels, Machiavelli," Ezio says simply – the Apple has ceased to try making him suspicious of the man, at least. "You're welcome back here anytime."

After Machiavelli has made his exit, riding for Forlì, Mario joins Ezio in watching the children one evening, while Desmond is working at the medicine.

"What is it that he does up there?" Mario asks, while watching Giovanna and Matteo build a castle out of blocks Leonardo had fashioned for them.

"He calls them vaccines – they're for the children," Ezio says. "A preventive medicine, I understand, which will make sure certain illnesses will not be able to take root in them."

"Ah – like variolation?"

"You know of it, uncle?"

Mario smiles. "I've studied and traveled in my time as well, nephew, I wasn't always a mercenary," he says, considering Giovanna's toy soldier, standing now on top of the castle. "Though the knowledge he has is remarkable, I grant you."

"As are the things he uses it for," Ezio points out.

"Hmm," Mario agrees.

They listen as Giovanna directs the play for a moment, before Pietra wakes up in the crib and Ezio rises to pick her up before she will wake Federica as well. The babies are awake more often now, getting bigger and stronger – Pietra can hold her head up by herself now, probably on account of how much she likes looking around.

"Hello, little lady," Ezio says, sitting back down with the baby on his lap. "Please don't make a mess, I don't have your papa's magic to clean you with."

"You know, normally people manage child rearing just fine without magic," Mario comments.

"Only because they must. If they had magic to use, they'd use it," Ezio snorts, giving Pietra a little bounce, but when she doesn't seem too interested in bouncing he lets her just lean back against his belly, holding a hand over her belly to keep her from tipping over.

Mario considers him for a moment and then leans back in his seat as well. "It's nice to have children here again," he says. "I don't think the Villa has seen children since, oh… but since Giovanni and I were children," he muses. "Not aside from your family's occasional visits, in the early days."

Ezio looks at him. "Why didn't you ever have any children, uncle?"

"Ah," Mario says and waves a hand. "Giovanni was doing well enough, continuing the family line. Married life wasn't for me, in either case. Though I suppose you managed without it."

Ezio looks at the children and wonders if he really did – if he would have, without Desmond. He still wouldn't even know about them without the magician.

"Have you thought of finding yourself a wife?" Mario asks curiously. "This many children could use a mother."

Giovanna looks up fast enough to give herself a whiplash, and even if Ezio didn't already have reservations, the stark alarm in her eyes would've made him hesitate. "I think," Ezio says slowly, "we have things well enough in hand without."

The very notion of some woman minding his children is very strange. The idea of _anyone_ other than Desmond doing it seems wrong, really. Claudia had offered to find the twins a nanny, even a wet nurse, and Ezio had found himself a little bit offended by the idea that such a person was even needed. A wife? How would that even work, with Desmond already…

Ezio's thoughts trail away, leaving him feeling a little unsettled. "Things are fine as they are," he says. "Desmond takes good care of the children, they don't need anything else."

Mario looks at him, considering. "Well, if you say so, nephew," he says then and lets the matter drop. "Have you talked to him about – about his powers, the Apple?"

"Not yet, I wanted to let things settle, and the issue of mother's medicine needed to be solved," Ezio says and brushed his fingers through Pietra's soft hair. "But I think I will, soon."

* * *

 

Ezio waits for the evening, when the babies are asleep and the older children are put to bed, before deciding to bring the matter up. Monteriggioni is quiet, and the town gates are closed for the night – it's as good a night as any.

So, while the servants are dousing lights and Claudia has retired to read to mother for the evening, Ezio makes his way to Desmond's door, knocking softly out of fear of waking sleeping children. Only, it turns out, no one is sleeping.

They are bathing.

"I'm sorry – Matteo made a mess, and I figured I might as well wash everyone while I was at it," a little harried looking Desmond says, with two soaked babies in his arms.

There's a hip bath in the man's room, and Giovanna and Matteo are happily splashing about in it, wooden toys floating in the bathwater and getting thrown about as they play.

"Oh dear," Ezio says, amused. "Do you need help?"

"Oh, yes, _please_ ," Desmond says with a sigh. "Come in. You might want to roll up your sleeves, by the way – they won't survive this dry."

Not much of any of Desmond's clothes had survived the ordeal dry, it looks like – his chest and shoulders are all splashed, and his knees are soaked through from where he'd been kneeling by the bath. Ezio gives him a considering look and then takes off his bracers.

"Papa, come make little things move faster!" Giovanna calls from the tub.

"... What?" Ezio asks, laughing.

"Ah, thermodynamics as understood by a six year old," Desmond says with a laugh. "Here, can you take Federica?"

"Sure," Ezio says and accepts the squirming wet baby, who seems eager to get back into the water.

Desmond holds Pietra in one arm and puts his other hand into the water – his fingers glow briefly while Giovanna and Matteo wait. Then the children let out excited squeaks, and Ezio realises Desmond just made the water warmer.

"Make it real hot!" Giovanna urges him.

"No, sweetheart, we have to mind the babies, they can't handle too hot water. Let us wash the twins and then I'll make the water as hot as you'd like," Desmond says, kneeling by the tub.

Ezio shakes head in wonder. "Where were you all my life of washing in icy cold water," he says.

"Enjoying hot baths, probably," Desmond laughs and then, very gently, lowers Pietra in the water. "Mind that her head always stays above water, Ezio," he says. "And don't take your eyes of her – they get squirmy."

That's one way of putting it. Federica wiggles like an excited little worm, kicking and flailing delightedly in the water, splashing the other kids – which makes Giovanna splash at her in retaliation, though only very carefully, and no one is safe from water.

Desmond, Ezio notes, gets the worst of it – the children all but target him, and soon his robes are soaked through.

"So much for waterproofing," the man sighs tragically, much to Giovanna's and Matteo's amusement. Then, carefully setting Pietra down in his lap, Desmond tugs at the robes and pulls the sodden cloth completely off.

Ezio glances at him, grinning at his plight, and then stops to stare.

He'd known, in theory, that the golden markings probably run throughout Desmond's whole body. He'd only seen his head and hands, the man keeps himself so well covered all the time… but the lines ran down Desmond's collar, so Ezio had assumed they'd go down his chest as well. But seeing is different from imagining it.

He'd also imagined that Desmond, being an old man, would have the body of an old man too. And he… sort of does. But there is an obvious strength beneath his thin skin and the grey hair at his chest and stomach – and the golden lines seem to almost follow the lines of his body, making it seem narrower, streamlined.

"Eyes on Federica, Ezio," Desmond says, giving him a look, and quickly Ezio looks down at the child. His hand is behind Federica's neck, carefully keeping her head above the water – she's fine.

"Sorry," Ezio says and keeps his eyes down while Desmond picks Pietra and continues getting her clean.

Ezio can still see him from the corner his eye, he cannot _not_ see him. Arms, shoulders, chest, sides, stomach and down under the waistline of his breeches – even Desmond's back is lined with gold, his body turned into a canvas of lines and angles on bare skin. The only place where it isn't so is his left arm, where the golden lines go over grey ones – an old, faded tattoo, barely visible, which was drawn over by the gold. The tattoo must be decades old.

"Was there something you wanted, Ezio, before I hijacked you for bathtime?" Desmond asks, calm.

"I meant to speak with you, after the children went to bed – and take you to see the Sanctuary," Ezio says, distracted.

"I want to see it too!" Giovanna says quickly.

"Later, sweetheart, bathtime now," Desmond says. "I think the twins have about had enough. Come on, Pietra, honey, up you get –"

He lifts the baby from the bathwater, and Ezio does the same, holding Federica close and getting his shirt thoroughly wet. Desmond has towels and clothes ready for the children, and while Giovanna and Matteo continue playing, Ezio and Desmond get the babies dry and in clean nappies and clothes.

"Can you mind Giovanna and Matteo while I get the twins fed?" Desmond asks, sitting on his bed and reaching for the bottles.

"Of course," Ezio says and sits back to watch as Desmond, still shirtless, minds the twins.

It ends up being almost an hour before all the kids are done with the bath, have been dried up and reclothed. Desmond lays the twins down to sleep with many kisses and soft humming until they settle, and then Ezio gets the pleasure of listening to another of Desmond's strange bedtime stories, this one a tale of girl and an evil forest.

All the children are asleep by the time it turns out that the forest wasn't as evil as everyone assumed.

Ezio looks up as Desmond gets his wet robes from the floor and dries them with glowing hands. "You know, you don't need to be so formally dressed all the time," Ezio blurts out. "This is your home too, you should relax here."

Desmond blinks, stopping in the act of pulling the robes on. "Um," he says. "This is kind of informal for me," he admits embarrassedly. "I don't really even know how to dress normally, sorry."

"Oh," Ezio says, watching the man fastening the front of the robe over his gold-marked chest. Quickly, Ezio clears his throat. "We do have a tailor in Monteriggioni – I could have something made for you."

"If you'd like. I'm fine like this," Desmond says. "Thanks for the offer, though. What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Ezio stand up, tugging slightly at his still wet shirt. "Maybe not here?"

Desmond hums, glancing at the bed, at the crib. He seems worried all of a sudden, hesitant, and for a moment Ezio thinks he will decline.... Then Desmond reaches out and touches Ezio's chest. Ezio blinks, and before he can say anything, there's a lovely spread of warmth, and his shirt is suddenly dry.

"The sitting room," Desmond says quietly. "I don't think I quite dare to head down to the Sanctuary without anyone watching the twins in the meanwhile."

"You don't mind waiting?" Ezio asks. "We could wake up Leonardo. Or one of the maids could do it."

"No, let them sleep. There's time," Desmond shrugs, wryly amused. "About five hundred years, give or take."

"... Ah."

They head to the sitting room. There was a fire there during the day, but it's almost gone out now – Ezio takes a moment to add a few logs on the embers before joining Desmond seated by the fireplace.

Ezio had questions – he can't remember a single one now.

"How have you been dealing with the Apple?" Desmond asks.

"Hmm? Oh, fine," Ezio says, waving a hand. "It tries to persuade me to use it every now and then, but mostly I ignore it. I'm almost used to it now, to be honest."

"And you don't feel any urge to use it? You aren't curious?" Desmond wonders, watching him.

Ezio hesitates. "I can't say I'm not, but – I assume it's dangerous. So, no matter how curious I might get, I won't be using the Apple."

Desmond hums. "You've always been strong against them," he says a little wistfully. "The only one who could have them, not use them and actually give them up without any trouble."

Ezio frowns. "I have only had this one," he says.

"... Yes, you're right, of course," Desmond says and sighs. "I'm sorry."

There's a moment of silence, while Desmond stares at the fire and Ezio considers his words. "You know my future," he says. "You know what will happen. That spectre you conjured, it was me, but from the future."

"No, not exactly," Desmond says, shaking his head. "History has changed now – I know a version of a future that's no longer accurate."

"The children," Ezio guesses. "You changed the future for the children."

" _With_ them, but I guess now it's also for them," Desmond agrees and looks at him. "In the future I know, you never knew them. I don't think Federica and Pietra survived long after their birth – and I don't think Matteo lived to be four, to be honest. Giovanna survived, maybe, but…"

Ezio swallows, his blood running cold.

"I didn't exactly come here for them, but since they were there and I could help..," the old man says and shrugs. "Either way, in the future I know you came into contact with other Pieces of Eden, later in life – and you're still the only person I know who could possess them and then hand them over. Even Altaïr couldn't do that – he kept his Apple until his last breath, and then sealed it in his own tomb with himself," Desmond says. "It was too dangerous to be left out in the open, he thought, and I suppose it was. But I think mostly it was that the Apple got to him, made him possessive of it."

Ezio has no idea what to say to that. "You said that it would be needed one day, to save the world," he says then. "When – how?"

"Some five hundred years from now. Ah," Desmond closes his eyes. "Five hundred twenty four years, five months, and thirteen days." When he opens his eyes, there is a dim glow in them. "There's going to be a Solar Flare – sun is going to throw some fire at the world, and burn almost everything to the ground, unless it's shielded. That Apple is a key to saving the world, so…" he shrugs. "Can't live with it, can't live without it."

Ezio watches him, and Desmond glances his way, his eyes weary and glowing. "You're from that time," Ezio says. "You're from five hundred years into the future."

"A little further than that, I'm afraid. Eight hundred," Desmond says, giving him a wry smile.

"... Oh," Ezio says.

"I did live through the end, though," Desmond says. "And past it… not that that makes things at all better, I suppose."

Ezio eyes him in wonder for a moment, trying to wrap his head around it. "So you're – three hundred years old?" he asks and Desmond shrugs awkwardly. "Does everyone in your time live that long?"

"No, thankfully, nor should they," Desmond says with a sigh. "The first hundred years were a gift and a pleasure – the following couple of centuries, not so much. I –" he hesitates. "Never mind. No, it wasn't common. And it wasn't without effort. It takes – a lot of power to live that long."

"Power like the Apple?" Ezio asks, arcing his brows.

"No – power like worshippers," Desmond says, looking away. "Faith and loyal followers – that's…" he trails away, pressing his lips together. "I told you about the Apple's power and about the Faith, didn't I?"

"You told me some, but I admit, I didn't understand all of it," Ezio says. "That humans and the Pieces of Eden are parts of a same machine."

Desmond nods. "Because of the way Isu made us susceptible to the Pieces of Eden, our brains are receptive a to certain form of energy – but to make us receptive to it, the Isu also, almost accidentally, made us capable of producing it and manipulating it, if there's enough."

"What kind of energy?" Ezio asks, confused. "Like your magic?"

"Not ordinarily. It's not something you can see with a naked eye – but it's the same thing as what makes people glow in hues under your Eagle Vision," Desmond explains. "That aura is the energy humans produce – and we produce a lot of it. It's what the Apple of Eden manipulates – it gets at the core of what produces that aura, the core of human will, and undermines it."

Ezio shakes his head. "I'm not sure how well I follow, but – go on."

Desmond gives him a brief smile and continues. "With one human, you can't do much with that – you can change their allegiances, change their mind, their self image, but that's it. But when you have enough people under the Apple's thrall and you have them Believe something… that energy makes it reality, makes it happen."

"And that's magic," Ezio summarises.

Desmond sighs. "Yes, that's magic. That's the Faith," he says and looks at his hands. "The Isu barely discovered it before they were wiped out by the last Solar Flare. I learned about it just before the Solar Flare happened again, seventy five thousand years after the first one, five hundred years from now. And afterwards, once everything had burned, we were out of options… only I had the Apple. The same Apple you had. So we… learned to use it. _I_ used it."

Ezio watches him silently. "Tell me more," he urges then, when Desmond doesn't continue. "What happened?"

Desmond squeezes his hands into fists. "I think I should show you instead," he says and looks up. "You will never understand unless you see it for yourself. Will you let me show you?"

Ezio has only the faintest idea what this _showing_ might entail, but he doesn't hesitate. "Yes, please. Show me."

Desmond sighs and reaches for him, the tips of his golden fingers glowing. "Close your eyes," he says shakily.

Ezio exhales slowly and then closes his eyes, letting his head fall into Desmond's warm hands. Desmond doesn't say anything, just pushes his fingers into Ezio's hair, against his scalp, thumbs pressing against his temples.

"Take a deep breath," Desmond says, and Ezio is only halfway through the inhale before he falls out of his body, though a place of golden nothingness, and then –

He lands, standing, on a street of a city that's still building itself up around him, forms and structures growing and appearing from nowhere and fitting to their places like pieces of a puzzle. Ezio thinks he knows these buildings – he knows their design – but the people, also flickering into existence, are strange. They are like heat mirages, golden and strange, as is the wind that appears from nowhere to tug at his clothes. Above him, sky spreads out, cloudless and deep blue, and the sun seems unbearably hot. It's wrong.

It's like Florence – but in a desert.

Ezio stares around, wide-eyed and confused, as people walk past him without noticing. They're dressed oddly, mostly in robes – and most of them have something gold on them, either as jewellery or as markings on their skin. They seem to come from all corners of the world – there's oriental people, people from Africa, from places he'd maybe never even heard of, men and women and children in every shade of skin…

And then Desmond is there with him, standing beside him.

"Welcome, Ezio," he says quietly, his eyes distant and weary. "To the Golden City of Turin."


	22. Chapter 22

The Golden City of Turin is beautiful and… strange.

Ezio is certain he knows these buildings – that church over there, that tower, he thinks he has climbed them, he'd rested on top of that perch, he'd taken a look at the surrounding area from there. Only the area is different – the layout of the city is different. Everything is very clean, very – uniform.

The buildings, so familiar, are laid on unfamiliar straight roads, in perfect rows, in blocks. There's none of the familiar winding of alleyways, backstreets, narrow alcoves and corridors between buildings, no – everything is in straight lines, the streets perfect as if drawn by a ruler. And those streets, they're lined with gold.

Ezio isn't sure if it's disturbing or extremely pleasing, aesthetically. It's unnerving, either way.

"It looks incredible," he says out loud while following Desmond down the streets, viewing the familiar architecture in an unfamiliar city.

"Isn't it?" Desmond asks, with little pride. "Three hundred years of Prayer and Faith, and tens of thousands of people turning their minds towards a single endeavour."

"All this was made with your power?" Ezio asks.

"Yes," Desmond says and motions ahead.

There is a crowd of people, clustered around an empty section of the city's unnervingly perfect grid. Some of them are down on their knees, some are sitting down, some have their hands clasped together – all have their heads bowed, in a prayer.

Somewhere, there's a voice, a familiar voice.

_"Our Faith is an engine of great change…"_

As they watch, Ezio in amazement and Desmond with a strange weariness, the Golden City of Turin begins to shine. Beneath their feet, on the building walls, on the clothes and skin of people – the golden lines are everywhere, giving the whole city and its people an ethereal glow.

And then a building grows into existence. It is as if it's being built by invisible hands, from bricks that appear from thin air, piece by piece growing as everything slots into its place in the construction, until ceiling beams fall and roof tiles rain upon the building, all into their rightful places. Within a single minute, there's a whole two story building where there was none before.

The people praying burst into cheers and exultation, whispering praises and gratitude.

Desmond turns to Ezio. "When the Isu discovered the power of human Faith, religion wasn't yet even a concept. Isu were very factual people, they trusted in what they knew and could prove. Believing in things that don't exist, it was…" he waves his hand. "It was beyond reason for them."

Suddenly they're somewhere else, in a dim space, vague and transparent. There are people there, men and women in rags, on their knees, their heads bowed – and above them a man, or a being like a man, with an Apple of Eden in hand – and the kneeling humans in its thrall.

"Is that an Isu?" Ezio asks, watching the man with the Apple, connecting the humans with a tether of power.

"A vague recording of one," Desmond agrees. "The Isu could force humans to Believe, but they never imagined the idea that you could have them do it by their free will. So they could use the synergy of humans and the Pieces of Eden to do small things, but there's a limit to how many humans you can have under its thrall at once. So they died out, never knowing the true power of the thing they created, when the Sun scorched the Earth seventy five thousand years ago."

Ezio sees it for a moment, more in his head than with his eyes – the heat, the sun growing too bright, the fires.

"Organised religion only happened tens of thousands of years after they died," Desmond says, and suddenly they're back in the Golden City of Turin. "I still don't know if it was Juno who came up with it or if humans developed it on their own, but eventually the concept of believing into nonexistent things became the norm, rather than a rare exception."

Ezio blinks the image of fire from his eyes and looks at Desmond. "I take it you don't believe in God, then?"

"I've met gods," Desmond says wryly. "They have an upsetting habit of turning out to be Isu. Met most of them through you, actually."

_"Greetings, Prophet. It is good you have come…"_

Ezio shakes his head, confused, and Desmond motions him to follow. "Come on," the old man says. "Let me show you the Grand Temple of the Capitoline Triad."

Ezio follows him, watching him and the city in turns. The people – or, rather, the memories of them – are reacting to Desmond now, bowing their heads to him, whispering, "Greetings, Mentor," and, "Faithful day to you, Mentor," and, "My prayers are with you, Mentor."

Desmond leads Ezio through the gold-marked streets up and towards a hill. The street leads straight to it, and on top of it, at the end of the grand staircase, is an cathedral. A familiar cathedral.

"That's Santa Maria del Fiore," Ezio says, confused. What on Earth is it doing in this place, and how –? "Was this city once Florence?"

"No, this isn't even on the same continent," Desmond says. "That's the Great Temple of the Faith – a monument to my great lack of imagination and any artistic talent. We needed a temple, something to sit at the Centre of the Faith we were building, so… I stole the design from history."

Desmond shrugs and then leads him towards the Temple, the stairs leading up to him – but they don't go up the stairs. Instead Desmond steps through them, through the stone and earth and onto another staircase, this one leading down into the depths of Earth.

They enter a great black cavern of glass and molten rock – at the centre of which, on a golden pedestal, at the heart of thousands intersecting golden lines, sits the Apple of Eden, shimmering alone in the darkness.

"This is what powered the Golden City of Turin," Desmond says, stepping closer to the Apple. "At least, in the beginning. The city grew beyond its capacity, but it still had an effect. The circuitry is a derivation of its power and technology, dedicated to one thing. To enable the Faith."

As Ezio watches, Desmond reaches for the Apple, and as he does, he changes. The robes he wears grow grander and then simpler and then disappear all together, replaced by simpler and simpler clothes. Desmond's face changes too – growing first older and then younger and then older again and younger again. The deep weariness fades and lines of gold retreat, line by line, from his face and from his eyes.

It's an unmarked man, decades younger and beautiful, who picks the Apple up, his clothes altogether strange and his eyes strong and determined and bright.

The cavern is different too – it's inhabited by people, hundreds of them, their blankets and things spread across every bit of flat surface, living in cramped squalor in the cave.

"Before the Flare we saved as many people as we could. Turin was a small town then, not many people there, but we did what we could," the much younger Desmond says. "We brought them here, where we knew they'd be safe. Not everyone believed us or came, just a few hundred who thought it would be a laugh. We sent thousands of warnings and messages to anyone who would listen. Assassins went underground, they got who they could to do the same. And then –"

The cave trembles around them and people shout in alarm.

"The Flare," Desmond says quietly, the pedestal gone now and the Apple in hand. "It lasted for days, first the big flare, then the ensuing afterflares – and then the forest fires. Every plant, every animal, every person caught outside burned. Billions of people, trillions of animals – all gone by the end of the first day, their corpses burned to ash by the end of the week."

Ezio looks up at the cave ceiling as the shaking of the earth goes on and on. Then he looks at Desmond, who looks guilty and sad. He doesn't know what to say.

"Afterwards, there was so little left," Desmond whispers. "Just – black hot wasteland as far as the eye can see. We thought some parts of cities would survive to be scavenged, but they didn't – concrete turned to dust and steel melted, and there was _nothing_ left. We had food and water for a week, maybe, but after that – we would have all died. We tried everything, we looked for old wells, water mains, rivers, lakes –"

And Ezio can see it. Four people return to the surface, Desmond and three others, two men and one woman. And there is nothing there, only a desert of ash, not even skeletons of trees remaining – just a layer of soot and ash over the barren, lifeless earth. The people who explore it are hopeless and hungry and horrified of what had became of their world. And so is Ezio.

Desmond bows his head. "We tried everything, _anything…_ and it was such a long shot, but we knew about the Isu making people believe, and the things they believed coming true, so…"

It's a wretched, dirty first congregation that kneels in front of Desmond, their clothes covered in ash, their faces clean only where tears had washed away the soot. They kneel and they _pray,_ and with a determined, grim look on his face, Desmond brings them all under the Apple's thrall.

And together, they make a miracle happen.

Ezio watches, and part of him feels the same incredulous jubilation the people must have felt, when a natural spring bubbles to the surface of the blackened earth right in front of them, as their _Faith_ brings them life.

Desmond bows his head.

"Why are you so ashamed?* Ezio asks, at the people rejoice, drink their full, and cry in wretched, helpless relief – as they realise they're going to _live_ after all. "You _saved_ them, you gave them means to live. And if this same power built that city from before – why are you ashamed of it?"

"Because it's my fault," Desmond says. "I haven't shown you everything yet – watch."

Together Desmond and his people make other things happen – they make fields, they make things grow, they make clothes and shelters and food. Desmond begins to walk and stand like a leader, and people flock to him, listen to him – do as he says. Ezio can see how magnificent he looks in their eyes – they believe in him, believe that he will save them.

Ezio can also see how quickly it begins to wear on Desmond's soul. He sees Desmond sitting in the dark, staring at the Apple in his hand, learning from it, his back bowed under the responsibility of making things right.

 _"Are you sure about this?"_ someone asks, one of the people Desmond had returned to the surface with. They gather around Desmond, and they look uncertain and weary and wretched to a man.

 _"I'm really not,"_ Desmond says, and makes the golden pedestal at the heart of the temple – with finality, he sets the Apple upon it.

And from there the Golden City of Turin begins, and it's awkward at first, slow to grow and uneasy. But the more Desmond Believes and the more people Believe in him and the power of the Faith, the greater it grows. People come to join the people of Turin, and they learn to Believe, and with them the power grows. The buildings become nicer, start gaining a familiar design. People settle, have children, teach them their Faith. Desmond grows older and people begin calling him Mentor.

They tried to call him lord, king, even pope – he refuses the titles, so they call him Mentor and it rings _mighty._

And the power of the Golden City of Turin is undeniable. It's strange and incredible and terrifying, and the first time the city goes to war, it's overwhelming.

Ezio still doesn't understand how anyone can be ashamed of such a construction – surely, the Golden City was the greatest on Earth. Its people were faithful and loyal and happy, and no one saw hunger or illness or poverty. Everyone had what they needed, all they had to do was ask for it. Desmond even grew to have students, followers – priests, though they used a different name for it. People were powerful with the Faith.

And yet, Desmond looks wretched.

"I don't understand," Ezio says, trying to wrap his head around the fact that his children's carer is a _king_. "How can this be anything but a great thing?"

Desmond sighs. "It wasn't," he says sadly. "It was an utopia. But…"

It went on for too long.

Desmond lived, he ruled, and eventually he grew old – his dearest friends died and he mourned for them, and he grew older still and people began to fear.

 _"What will happen to us when he dies?"_ they asked. _"Mentor has no heirs and no successors – none of us can do what he does. What will happen to the Faith when he's gone?"_

And so people prayed – they prayed for his youth. And Desmond became young again – but only in flesh. The sadness of friends lost, of the life lived, of mistakes made, it all lingered.

"I didn't mind, the first time – the first time it was a great thing, to be young again," Desmond says. "I could give the people another fifty years of service, and Turin could flourish – I could teach the Faith to others and have them take over eventually, except –"

It didn't happen. People rejoiced, they had another fifty years of prosperity and growth under their now over hundred year old Mentor – and at the end, they prayed for his youth again.

And again.

And _again._

And no one of them saw how the years wore on him, because the people who knew him in his youth were gone, the people who knew him in his sixties were gone, the people who knew him in his hundreds were gone. Then two hundred years had passed, three hundred, and no one remembered how much stronger Desmond had been – for them their Mentor had always been thus, wise and weary and tired and far too old. And they would not give him rest, they would not let him go – they loved him and thought they needed him too much.

Eventually Desmond grew indifferent – and the Faith he created began growing corrupt.

"The thing I always knew, I always felt in the back of my mind, was how easy the Faith would be to abuse," Desmond says tiredly, as they watch him at his oldest, being pampered by acolytes while his Adept priests scheme behind his back for power. "The whole thing is based on manipulating human mind and making them believe in castles in the sky – all it would take was one charismatic trickster to turn it into an absolute, mind-controlling tyranny. I should have safeguarded against it better, I should have laid down better rules and laws and restrictions, I should have… but I didn't. I just grew tired."

And in the end, his own Adepts schemed his assassination, at the dawn of a new age for the Faith – a darker Faith.

Desmond bows his head again, and he looks older – older than his usual fifty or so years, older than a hundred.

"You made many great things with the Faith," Ezio says quietly.

"Oh, I did," Desmond agrees, his voice like the creak of a hinge, so old he is. "I created a great nation and saved thousands of people. Advanced the scope of human understanding – we all had to become Adepts of the Cosmos herself, to use the Faith to its fullest. I could do the same for Monteriggioni, I suppose – I could make it into another Golden City."

Ezio takes his arm, looking to support him – Desmond looks so frail now, shrunken with age. "This is why you always look so guilty, teaching Leonardo."

"He's becoming Faithful," Desmond agrees, leaning onto him. "He doesn't have the genes to become an acolyte, he can't ever control the Faith – but he already Believes. And Leonardo is a great man – he can teach the Faith to others, and soon…"

"It may spread," Ezio agrees, thoughtful. "I… I can see why you don't want that, with how things became, but this…"

They're back in the Golden City, and it's strange and incredible and miraculous. "This can't be all bad," Ezio says. "People lived long happy lives here, they were free of sickness, they could do great things – it can't be all bad just because it can be used for ill. You can do terrible things with many of things not meant for the task – you can run a man over with a carriage, but that doesn't mean carriages aren't a very useful and good creation, does it?"

Desmond looks up to him, crooked with age, and then looks down. "There's another thing," he says then. "Saved the worst for last. Let's go back."

And back they go – back into the cave, back before the flare, back before it was full of refugees. There is only Desmond there now, Desmond and three others – two men and one woman, the people closest to him, the early rulers of the Golden City of Turin, the ones whose passing Desmond mourned the most.

They are alone in the cave – it's just them and golden ghosts.

"This Grand Temple is where the Isu tried to save the world from the Solar Flare," Desmond says. "Three of them, Jupiter, Minerva and Juno – Roman gods, see? Most of them are Isu."

Ezio frowns, uncertain. "That's… why you were here in the first place?" he asks. "To stop the Solar Flare?"

"To find way to shield the Earth from it, yes," the old man says and closes his eyes. "And we found it. The machine the Isu built, the Eye – with enough power and the right key, it could do just that."

 _"Only put your hand on the pedestal, and the world will be saved,"_ one of the golden ghosts says urgently.

 _"You must not free her!"_ another says.

They're talking to Desmond, the young one again, confused and with a hand hovering over a glowing orb. One of them persuades him to do it, the other not, both urging him to take action.

"Juno hated us," Desmond says, motioning to one of the ghosts. "Belittled and mocked us and said we weren't worthy of the life they gave us. Minerva was on our side," he motions to the other. "She arranged everything, for centuries, just so that I'd be at the Temple at the right time, with the right knowledge and tools. In the end…"

Desmond draws his hand away from the pedestal, he doesn't use the device.

Ezio looks at him, silent.

Desmond sighs and shakes his head. "Billions of people died and the Faith was sprung into existence, because I chose to believe Minerva over Juno."

"That's why you're here, to change it," Ezio murmurs. "This one moment."

Desmond nods. "I never meant to come back this far. Three hundred years would have been enough," he says. "It was a mistake, which, granted…"

Everything surges, and the Grand Temple disappears. Ezio lands in his own body with a heavily pounding heart and almost stumbles down – Desmond's hands on his head stop him, holding him up, and Ezio is left leaning in them, gasping for breath.

"I don't mind that much, anymore," Desmond finishes his thought ruefully and releases him slowly.

He doesn't look so old anymore, Ezio thinks confusedly. He is old, but – not, nowhere as old as he had been, as he could be. Compared to the crooked sad thing he could and had become, Desmond here is strong and firm – the only sign of his age is the hair and lines of his face, which are little more than camouflage at this point. The man is spiritually older – physically younger – and altogether _magnificent._

Ezio is strongly reminded of the years he'd served Lorenzo de' Medici – only _Il Magnifico_ had nothing on Desmond's accomplishments.

"Do you see now?" Desmond asks quietly.

Ezio nods shakily and runs a hand over his hair, still feeling the touch of Desmond's fingers on his scalp. "There is one thing I don't understand," he admits.

"Yes?"

"Why my children?" Ezio asks, looking up confusedly. He almost understands, almost knows, but...

"Because they're _your children,_ Ezio," Desmond says. "Don't you see? You're my Prophet. You just haven't came to the Prophecy yet."

Ezio's blood runs a little colder. "I don't…"

"In the history as I know it, you meet Minerva at one of her vaults in Vatican – through you, I see her warning about the Solar Flare," Desmond says and shrugs. "I've seen your whole life – this was before the Flare, when we were still looking for the Apple. I lived through your memories, to find where you would eventually hide it, so that we could save the world with it."

"Only you didn't," Ezio says.

"Only I didn't," Desmond agrees.

It's a long moment before any of them speaks again. Ezio looks into the fire – the logs are still burning, it cannot have been more than a few minutes, in Desmond's memories. How strange.

"What happens now?" Ezio asks, uncertain.

"I leave a message to my future self, and hopefully none of which you just saw ever comes to be," Desmond shrugs. "The Solar Flare is averted, the Faith never comes to be –"

"And you die at the Grand Temple," Ezio says.

Desmond smiles. "Hopefully, yes."

And that's good enough, is it?

_Is it?_


	23. Chapter 23

Watching Desmond with the children is different now. It is like suddenly finding the king of France or Spain and the Pope rolled into one, in your backyard, playing in the dirt with your kids. Because that's what Desmond is doing – following Matteo around as the boy pokes curiously around the garden, looking for earthworms. In his pristine white robes, so much like Ezio's own but not at all, Desmond has the look of infinite patience and amused indulgence on his gold-marked face as the boy presents him with a handful of dirt – and he accepts it, not for a moment looking like it might be beneath him.

And yet, Ezio can see the king in him – the Mentor of the Golden City. He can see what drew people to Believe in Desmond, what made them follow him – and he can see, very easily, how it could happen again. There is a quality in him, which Ezio had observed before but couldn't quite put a name to – which Leonardo must have known from the beginning.

Ezio had never truly believed in the Divine Right to Rule some kings are held up by – the Republic of Florence was ruled by the Signoria, which in theory was an elected position, but in practice meant that the richest families ruled the Republic. That's how a man like Lorenzo de'Medici ended up as the de facto ruler – because of money and also charisma, both of which bought him influence.

Desmond isn't wealthy, not in terms of money – gold for him means power in a completely different sense. Desmond isn't charismatic – not in the way that makes people follow him at his speech alone, or lets him lead roused up crowds to their death. He's nothing like the Spaniard, who is now striving for the seat of Holy See.

What Desmond is… is likeable. He's humble, he's kind, he's patient and understanding, and Ezio has no problem imagining him giving his last coin to a beggar. Knowing the lengths his self-sacrificing nature could take the man makes it a little sad, but the core of it hasn't changed – only now Ezio knows the word for the feeling he thinks he's always had.

Never once had he looked at Desmond and thought, _what gives him the right?_ Never once had it seem unfair. Really, Ezio doesn't think he's ever met a person and been so certain that they deserved every ounce of the power they wielded.

Divine right to rule, huh.

That's what Ezio thinks made people flock to Desmond and his Faith – because they could look at him and know the power was in the right hands – that it was used rightfully and justly and without bias. And what a privilege that must have been, to be able to look at your leader and know, always, that he was _just._ No wonder the people couldn't let the man go.

But, sadly… Ezio is fairly certain that's not the way Desmond sees it. While his people rejoiced in their just and righteous ruler, the ruler withered under their love – to the point where he longed for his own death and release from his duty to his people.

"Daddy, come on," Giovanna says, tugging at his hand. "You promised to take me to the rooftop of the villa!"

Ezio blinks and looks down at her – and then at the harness he's holding, which he meant to put on. "Sorry, dear heart, I got – distracted. Help me put this on, darling?"

They get the harness on him, and her into it, and while Desmond looks up from the flowerbeds where Matteo is making a mess, Ezio takes Giovanna up to the roof of the villa, and then the tower on top of it.

The view is, as always, gratifying. The whole of Monteriggioni spreads out before them, and the surrounding countryside beyond it, and Ezio can in the back of his mind name every building and farm and station he helped renovate.

He imagines the Faith spread across the town, every street and building lined with Desmond's circuitry, the walls made stronger and the town secure in the knowledge that it would stand for another three hundred and more, and – there's no denying that this is a lovely image. The town would be safe, the people happy and long-lived, his family protected…

And there's the outside world, willing to do anything and everything to either claim their power for themselves or destroy them for having it. That was, from what Ezio could tell, the reason for most of the Golden City's wars, short-lived though they always no doubt were.

"What is that building?" Giovanna asks, pointing over his shoulder. "It's pretty."

"It's the brothel, dear," Ezio says distractedly. "It's where the courtesans live and work, if they don't have homes."

Giovanna is quiet for a moment and then points elsewhere. "That's a church, right?"

"Yes. It's not very big, but it can fit most of the people of Monteriggioni."

Which reminds him, the twins have yet to be baptised. Though would that even be right, for Desmond, knowing he's a leader of a religion so far removed from Catholicism? Desmond hadn't seemed against it when Ezio brought the matter up, what now feels like a lifetime ago, and yet…

Giovanna is quiet for a moment, leaning her chin on top of his shoulder as they eye the town, Ezio considering the church and the city walls, wondering about futures that could be. Then Giovanna speaks, quiet, "Are we really going to stay here always?"

"For as long as you like, for as long as I can keep you safe here," Ezio says.

Giovanna sighs and wraps her arms around his neck. "Okay," she says. "I guess this is home, then."

"Yes, dear heart. This is home."

Is it home for Desmond, though? Would it even be enough for someone like him – and considering how old and tired he is, could he ever be happy here?

Ezio thinks of the wistful smile on the man's face as he spoke of his own future death and feels himself growing morose with the thought.

"You know, I can climb the guard towers too," he says to Giovanna. "Would you like to see?"

"Yes, please!"

And that's what they do, and for a while it's enough to distract Ezio from his grim thoughts – but only for a while.

* * *

 

Ezio finds himself watching Desmond more and more, watching his face and the emotions that grace it. They're very rarely negative, he finds.

Desmond doesn't actually look as tired as he did in the memories of the Golden City. When Leonardo begs to be taught, or Giovanna says that she's going to do magic one day, maybe – whenever his power and teaching it comes up, he grows a little stilted, but usually he brushes it aside by teaching his eager students the way the world comes together. He teaches the knowledge happily, Ezio notices – but not the Faith, not Belief.

There are moments, when the twins are sleeping and Matteo is napping and Giovanna is playing quietly, when Desmond gets lost in his own thoughts, and sometimes he looks sad and forlorn. But then Giovanna will go to his side, or Matteo will wake up, or the twins begin making noises, and he's get up, the look gone, replaced by a ready smile and soothing words.

For a while, Ezio wonders if he should offer to take the children for a day or two and give Desmond rest from the constant task of childcare – but soon he comes to realise, it might very well be the cruelest thing he could do for the man. He's obviously the happiest when he's with the children – to take them away from him now would be an unkindness Ezio doesn't have within him to commit.

Claudia obviously is starting to feel the same – Ezio hears her once with one of her maids, talking about the children, and of course the matter comes up. "Should Ser Ezio not be looking for a wife? Surely the children need a mother?"

To which his sister answers, scoffing, "They already have one, haven't you noticed – his name is Desmond." Which is both a little hilarious and also gratifying.

The word is going around Monteriggioni though, and people are whispering. Now that Ezio is taking his children out more, to see the town and to learn it as their home, people are talking about him settling down, finding a wife, having _proper heirs,_  because, after all, Mario is getting old and he's childless and Ser Ezio had _bastard children,_ and surely he must have _legitimate children_ too? Which rather confuses Ezio for a moment, before he remembers that Claudia isn't by right the ruler of Monteriggioni, _Mario_ is, and after him Ezio is the next in line – and after him, Matteo. Claudia is not even considered to be in the running for the condottiere of Monteriggioni, despite the fact that she handles most everything to do with the town's governing.

"Oh, it's fine – I learned to forge your and uncle Mario's signatures years ago," Claudia says dismissively when Ezio brings this up – which isn't really the reply he was looking for.

"You don't mind?" Ezio asks warily.

"What people think and what _is_ rarely goes together, I've found," Claudia says. "We can complain about it, do something about it or learn to live with it. And when you're ruling a town, complaining just makes you seem childish and incompetent, and rarely it brings any results."

Claudia, Ezio is finding out, has grown into an intimidatingly competent woman in his absence.

Still, there is gossip, and people are looking forward to Ezio's supposed marriage – and a wedding, because who would turn down a party – to an imaginary perfect woman. He notices that the women about town, even the ones who he's fairly certain are already engaged at least, if not downright married, begin offering themselves to him. No one outright throws themselves at him, at least, but there is a noticeable increase in the number of women making eyes at him – and _suggestions._  Especially considering that in Monteriggioni he got a reputation years ago.

"Surely it would be nicer to have a woman around that big villa of yours – a mother for your _poor children,_ " one of them coos, a particularly voluptuous young lady whom Ezio normally wouldn't have been able to refuse. Except she's saying it while pinching terrified Matteo's cheeks, and Ezio just feels rather uncomfortable near her.

Another woman is a little less obvious – but her intentions are fairly clear too. "Surely it's difficult minding the children alone? I hear you don't even have a nanny."

"We do well enough," Ezio answers, uneasy for a reason he can't quite explain. She smells – sweet, somehow, and it's making him feel a little cornered.

"I bet you don't get a moment's rest. My sister has a little babe of her own, and she's up at all hours. I have to help her out every now and then, just so that she'll get some rest," the young woman says and offers him a coy smile. "If you need respite yourself, perhaps I could… help you?"

The things people say to his face aren't nearly as bad as the things they say behind his back, of course, but that's as good as it's always been. Ezio knows very well the names some of the women in Monteriggioni had for him – when he'd been a few years younger, he'd even taken pride in it. Now…

"If I'd known it would take a child to tame that old stallion, I wouldn't have minded my courses better!" A woman Ezio thinks he'd enjoyed a night with some years ago says, and the whole crowd bursts into giggles.

Ezio finds himself avoiding women, all of a sudden – and for the first time of his life, the idea of indulging fills him with unease.

"Can women tell when they're, uh… receptive?" he asks Claudia.

"...  _Excuse me_?" Claudia answers, dangerously.

Ezio swallows. "I mean – for children. Can they tell when they might be likely to get pregnant?"

She stares at him long and hard. "If they can read a calendar or at least count days, yes," she says then, slowly, her tone still very dangerous. " _Why_?"

"I think half of the available women in Monteriggioni are looking to get pregnant by me."

Claudia looks like she's not sure whether to laugh or be horrified – she settles on a little bit of both, and she's still laughing at him hysterically when, five minutes later, he slinks out of her office, annoyed and embarrassed.

Ezio doesn't quite run to Desmond to hide, but – whenever the man is around, no one approaches Ezio for sex. So there's that.

"Bad day?" Desmond asks calmly, with one of the twins in his arms – Federica, it looks like – feeding from a bottle.

Ezio sighs. "I've had worse days," he says and watches him for a moment. "May I feed her?"

"By all means," Desmond says. Ezio takes Federica to his lap, getting the bottle from Desmond just in time before she can start complaining about her feeding being interrupted.

"Sorry, little lady," Ezio says. "Daddy just really needs some snuggles right now."

Desmond leans his elbow to the backrest of the couch, watching him.

"Where are Giovanna and Matteo?" Ezio asks, glancing around. Only Pietra is there – happily sleeping in the little carriage Desmond had made.

"Leonardo has them – they're doing a dissection on a dead bird Giovanna found in the garden," Desmond says. "Leonardo means to clean the bones, and I didn't want to expose the twins to the process."

Ezio blinks warily. He remembers Leonardo's dissections. "Is that… wise?" he asks, recalling having been more than a little disturbed by it at seventeen – Matteo and Giovanna are still so young.

"It's fine, Leonardo knows for to handle the children," Desmond says, smiling at him.

Ezio glances at him and then at Federica – whom Desmond is smiling at. Only he isn't. Desmond is looking at him. "What?" Ezio asks. Had Claudia told him about the – the women?

"You have no idea how glad I am that I got to give this to you," the magician says, smiling a little wider. "It wasn't until decades later that you had children knowingly, the last time around. You seemed sad about it."

Ezio lifts his head a little at that. The mention of futures he can't imagine no longer fills him with unease and fear, but there's something about the way Desmond says it that makes him pause. "You're saying that like you did it just for me – and I know that's not true," he points out.

"I guess you're right," Desmond allows and looks down at Federica. "I'm trying not to be selfish – I already spend so much time with them, compared to you."

Ezio considers him, not sure how to say, _well obviously, you're their father too,_ without sounding very strange. "I wouldn't have it any other way," her settles on saying. "I don't even know how to change their diapers, and definitely not like you do."

"Ah, so you're just lazy," Desmond says and nods seriously. "I see."

"Well, if I had magic too, I'd contribute more – but I guess i have to just settle on offering you a roof atop your heads and food on your table," Ezio snorts.

Desmond hums. "Would you like to?"

"What, contribute more? Certainly, though I fear I'd just get in your way."

"Learn the power – learn magic, I mean."

Ezio hesitates, looking at him uncertainly. Is it a test? Desmond is always so against teaching it, seems to think nothing good will ever come if it, so… "Why do you ask?" he asks hesitantly.

"Because you haven't," Desmond says with a shrug. "And you know you have the capacity to do it."

Oh. He does, doesn't he? He could learn to become like Desmond, to wield and waive laws of nature like they're mere tools at his disposal, to be used or discarded as necessary. He too could become marked with gold, infected with the technology of the Isu… and become powerful with it. He could make Monteriggioni like Turin by his own hands, make it great, make it strong.

He could be like Desmond.

"I… don't know," Ezio answers honestly. "Why do you ask? You've always been against the idea of teaching it."

"Well, it's you," Desmond shrugs. "If anyone could use the Faith justly, it would be you."

Ezio looks at him incredulously. "What – like you?" he asks and snorts. "No, I couldn't do that, I wouldn't be able to do that."

"No, not like me, of course not like me – better," Desmond says, waving a hand.

Lord, is he a genius or a fool? "Desmond, from what I saw, what you did with the Faith was the absolute best anyone could have done with it," Ezio says, still a little incredulous. "Anyone else would have used it for their own benefit, or to make a great and powerful country – to conquer and take more territory. You didn't. I wouldn't have that restraint."

No, he'd use the power immediately to make Monteriggioni bigger – the town is already crammed full of people, and there is little in a way of space to build more houses. He'd make the town's walls stronger and cover them with cannons. He would do his utmost to make the town _great._

Desmond looks at him uncertainty, like this view on the matter had never crossed his mind. He looks away, frowning a little and running his hand through his short grey hair.

"Also wouldn't that make me more susceptible to the Apple?" Ezio points out.

"Hmm," Desmond answers. "I think you could overpower it," he admits then. "You've always been resistant to them. I think you could drive their influence from the Apple."

"The Isu?"

"Yeah," Desmond agrees and then shakes his head. "I couldn't, it took the end of the world to kill Juno, kill the Grand Temple... but I think you could force them out."

Ezio checks the Apple to make sure it's nowhere near Desmond and somehow influencing his thoughts. It isn't. "Why?" Ezio asks. "Why me but not you?"

"Your will is stronger than theirs," Desmond answers with a shrug. "I was built weak, because they needed a conduit – I was designed to be passive and roll over for them. But you are… you are strong."

Christ. Had the man always this trust in him? What on Earth has Ezio even done at this point to deserve it?

Ezio looks down as Federica finishes feeding and takes the bottle from her. "Any air in her stomach?"

Desmond leans forward to check and hums. "She's good," he says and Ezio nods, lifting the girl to his chest and leaning back against the backrest, arms securely around her.

Desmond looks at them, and despite of the topic, his eyes are warm and smile comes to his lips. He looks content, for all the terrible things he's saying.

"I'm not sure I'm what you think I am," Ezio says. "Compared to what I saw, what you did for the Golden City –" he shakes his head. "I wouldn't be able to be that selfless. I think it's better I don't learn magic, to be honest – the temptation would be too great." And it's probably the same to everyone, except for Desmond.

Desmond nods, seeming satisfied. "There you go," he says. "Stronger."

Ezio scoffs. "What – was that a test?"

"No, an honest offer, really," Desmond says and laughs. "But I'm glad you declined."

Ezio says nothing for a moment, eying him. Desmond looks back, and he seems more relaxed now, relieved even. Some of the strain has been released.

"It might still be necessary to turn Monteriggioni into a Domain," Ezio warns him. "If the Templars come after the Apple again, and they might, we will need your protection. Will you give it?"

"Of course. I'll do what I must," Desmond promises and looks down at Federica, who is idly kicking her little legs against Ezio's hand. "Though now you understand why I'm not exactly leaping at the chance."

"Yes, I do," Ezio agrees, still watching him. Desmond reaches to give Federica his golden fingers, which she grabs a hold of, squeezing for all she's worth. The magician grins, his eyes warm and full of light and not weary at all.

Desmond looks at him and his eyes don't change – if anything, he only looks happier, meeting his gaze.

 _Ah,_ Ezio thinks, his own eyes widening.

_So that's what it is._


	24. Chapter 24

Ezio has to talk to _somebody._ Claudia would laugh herself sick, mother isn't well and wouldn't have the energy or the will to understand, Ezio doesn't think he himself could stomach whatever Mario's reaction would be, so… He ends up going to Leonardo in the middle of the night, waking the artist and probably giving him a fright – something he'll regret later, probably, but right now he just _has to talk to somebody._

"Ezio? My friend, is something the matter?" Leonardo asks, looking bleary-eyed and alarmed.

"I think Desmond is in love with me," Ezio blurts out.

For a moment Leonardo looks like he didn't hear a single word. Then he looks like he did, but didn't understand them. Then he looks at Ezio like he's not sure _Ezio_ understood them. "What?" he asks, finally.

"Desmond. I think he's in love with me?" Ezio asks, hoping for a more reasonable reaction this time.

Leonardo considers him and then turns to head back to his room. "Alright, come in."

That, Ezio thinks, could either mean he's being a fool or he _has been_ a fool, and Leonardo is about to explain him how. He's, sadly, very good at that. Ezio goes, hoping despite the sinking feeling that he's wrong and Leonardo is about to put him straight.

Leonardo gets a bottle of wine from a cupboard and a pair of glasses, and so much for that hope, then.

Nervous and uneasy and agitated, Ezio looks around, wondering if he should make a quick exit through the window. Leonardo's room is a mess of devices, writing and sketches – he's settled into living in Monteriggioni in a way Desmond hasn't, Ezio is almost sad to find. Leonardo has made the room his, spreading his craft all around it – Desmond's room, Ezio knows from having visited it several times daily, has little of Desmond's own personal effects. Desmond doesn't really have any – there's the children's toys and clothes, and then there is the laboratory in the tower with all of its scientific equipment… but Desmond doesn't have _things_ , no just for himself – and why is Ezio noticing this now, he doesn't want to examine too closely.

"Sit down, my friend – have a drink," Leonardo says while already pouring for them, and Ezio collapses to sit across from him by a worktable covered in sketches. The wine is warm.

"So," Leonardo says. "What happened?"

What he expects, Ezio has no idea. Here's not even sure what _did_ happen. "I – we were talking, the way he looked at me –" Ezio says, thinks back to it, and promptly decides he needs more wine.

Leonardo eyes him, running his hand through his messy hair. "Alright," he says then. "And what did you _do_?"

Panicked, locked up – ran, as soon as Federica settled down to sleep. "Nothing," Ezio says, and when Leonardo arches his brow, he continues, defensively, "I left. We put Federica down to sleep and I begged his excuse and left."

"So you didn't…?"

"What?"

Leonardo makes a vague motion, which Ezio only after a second repetition realises means violence. "What?" Ezio asks, incredulously. "You'd think I'd hit him?!"

Leonardo shrugs, helpless. "I don't know how you would react to something like this – and, my friend, you look a fright. I thought you might have done something you regret."

"Of course I look a fright – did you miss the part where I said I think he's in love with me?"

Leonardo sighs. "Ezio, everyone with eyes has known that since meeting him – I knew it after a mere hour in his presence, and you weren't even there. The man isn't exactly _subtle_ about his feelings."

Ezio gapes at him.

"Granted, I didn't think he was _in love_ with you," Leonardo mutters and takes a sip of his wine. "Only that he loved you above all else – I didn't think it was a romantic sort of love."

"Leonardo, what are you saying? You knew?" Ezio asks, hurt.

"I thought _you_ knew – as I said, he's not subtle," Leonardo points out. "Ezio, he collected your bastards – and as much as I love those kids, you and I both know, no mere acquaintance does that. He bends the laws of nature for them and for you – he trusts you implicitly with powers and secrets he doesn't trust me with, and I have known him the longest here. Yes, Ezio – _everyone_ knows he loves you. He loves you more than I have ever seen anyone love another."

Ezio leans back in his chair, almost collapsing against the backrest. Yes, of course he knew Desmond held him in high regard, Desmond loves his children – but _him?_

"Drink some more," Leonardo says and refills his glass. Ezio drinks some more.

"Why did no one tell me?" he asks, quietly.

"We thought you knew," Leonardo says again with a sigh. "If I had realised you didn't, I would have addressed it, maybe – but again, I didn't know it was an _eros_ sort of love. Are you sure it's not _philia_?"

Ezio looks at him. "I have seen that look in the eyes of women, Leonardo – I know what I saw."

"So he looked at you with desire?" Leonardo asks a little dubiously.

No, he looked like Ezio remembers his parents looking at each other, with a settled, utter contentment of having their beloved at hand. Which, honestly, makes it _worse._

"I know what I saw," Ezio says defensively. "You doubt me?"

"It is only I didn't think he even… felt that sort of thing," Leonardo admits. "Desmond seems so far removed from earthly needs – half of the time he forgets he needs to eat to live."

Ezio blinks. "Is that why he skips half of the meals?"

"It's likely," Leonardo muses and sips at his wine, considering.

Ezio falls quiet for a moment and stares at his wine glass, searching for answers in the whirl of red within it. Maybe he was mistaken, at that – maybe at Desmond's age, all emotions, sorrow, happiness and love, grow so deep that they become unfathomable. Maybe when Desmond loves anything, he loves it with the power of three centuries, and from the outside it looks like something else, because such emotion is too big and too old to be comprehended.

And yet, Ezio keeps recalling the look and the knowledge, _he's happy I'm here,_ and it keeps making his heart pound hard with something that feels like panic.

Leonardo watches him with a sort of tired interest, like he's an especially worrying specimen. "Well, say he does not only love you, but he is _in love_ with you," he says slowly. "What will you do, my friend?"

Ezio looks up. "What will I do?"

The other nods and makes a motion. "What will you do. You've been vehement about his reliability and goodness – will that change with his emotions? Will you send him away now, banish him from Monteriggioni, like Machiavelli and Mario first wanted?"

"What – no, of course not," Ezio says quickly and then hesitates. "I wouldn't. He's the guardian of my children and he's helping mother, I wouldn't send him away."

Leonardo looks relieved. "Well, that's good," he says. "But what then, Ezio? What will you do with this knowledge?"

Ezio looks away, uncertain. What then, indeed? He isn't even sure how he can face Desmond now, knowing this. What would that do to their partnership, what would that do to the children? Desmond had cared for them alone, and truthfully, he didn't need any help, he had things better in hand than most parents, from what Ezio can tell…

And yet, Giovanna had only just begun to feel secure with him, and losing Matteo's child-like, open trust would cut Ezio deeper than any blade. Keeping his distance out of fear or shame and losing the chance of seeing the twins grow up because of it?

_"You have no idea how glad I am that I got to give this to you."_

Ezio swallows. Desmond hasn't made a move, he hasn't said anything, he hasn't asked for anything – and he would not, Ezio knows that. Desmond wouldn't even ask for more than he was already being given. He'd suffer his love alone, taking what little he is given and being content with it, and – lord, it hurts, imagining it.

"Maybe I am wrong," Ezio murmurs wretchedly. "Maybe it is only philia." God, if only it was just philia.

Leonardo considers him and them hums against his wine glass, drinking deep. "Well, if nothing else, that's easy enough to check," he says wryly and sets the glass down.

* * *

 

Of course, when Ezio hopes for something to not happen, it happens immediately – and an opportunity to _test_ the nature of Desmond's love for him presents itself the very next day.

When Ezio is viewing the construction site is the barracks, where things are quickly coming together… it begins to rain. Ezio has not bothered to wear robes for days on end now, enjoying the freedom of civilian clothes, and thus has none of Desmond's magical waterproof fabrics protecting him – his shirt is soaked through within minutes.

By the time he makes it back to the villa, Desmond had ushered the children inside, of course – they are playing in the front hall, some self-invented game of Giovanna's on the stairs, where Matteo looks to be at disadvantage but is enjoying the game anyway – Desmond is watching them carefully from the bottom of the stairs with the twins in the pram, probably to make sure they don't run and break their necks.

"Got caught in the rain, I see," the man comments as Ezio enters.

"Yes," Ezio says, hesitating. Desmond doesn't look at him any differently now, he only looks fond and amused. "I don't suppose you would be willing to produce a magical hot bath for me?" Ezio asks, trying not to let – anything – show.

"So as long as someone else carries the water, sure," Desmond says and laughs. "Come here, I'll dry you."

Oh.

Ezio hesitates for one crucial moment, and not only because this isn't a part of Leonardo's ludicrous suggestion, but because – because – of _that._ And yet, Desmond had dried him before – and Ezio has never hesitated going to him before. If he doesn't, Desmond will know something is wrong – and yet if he does, then –

Ezio almost stumbles over his feet stepping forward, a moment too late for the break not to be an awkward one – and yet, for all that Desmond couldn't have missed it, his expression doesn't change.

Desmond presses his hand, gold-fingered and lined, deeply veined and old, to Ezio's chest. It's warm, and so is the spread of heat that radiates from it – in a few seconds, Ezio's clothes are completely dry.

And so is his throat – lord, did they always stand this close to each other? He can see Desmond's individual eyelashes – there are straight lines of gold in the warm amber of his irises –

"There," Desmond says, turning away with a smile. "Just let me know when you'd like me to heat a bath for you, and I'll see what I can do."

"Yes, certainly," Ezio says dumbly. "Thank you."

The bath, he thinks, is another opportunity – only it isn't. The servants carry the water in – very unhappily, thanks to the rain, for which Ezio gives them leave for the rest of the evening. Ezio's heart is in his throat when he goes to ask Desmond to heat the water and the man agrees without hesitation – only he is then in and out of Ezio's rooms before he can even talk to the man.

"I'm sorry, Pietra needs to be changed, she just soiled herself – enjoy your bath," the man says as he goes, and Ezio is left holding the hem of his shirt, staring after him like a dullard.

Claudia, God willing, will never know about this – and even so, Ezio can just hear her laughing at him. Leonardo certainly must be incredibly entertained. Good lord, when did he become so bad at this? _How_ did he become so bad at this – he'd spent most of his life seducing people, how does Desmond turn him into a _complete fool?_

Well… at least the bath is lovely and hot.

* * *

 

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Leonardo sighs at him.

They're in his mother's room – Leonardo has been keeping her company, reading and drawing for her while Claudia was busy dealing with the tax collector. Maria is asleep now – she seems withered and feverish, but also – better.

"She's more reasonable," Claudia had told him. "She can hold conversions like she couldn't before – but then there are the shakes and bursts of fervent urgency – she wants more of the medicine, only I don't think she knows that's what it is, only that she wants _something._ Desmond suggested we don't tell her about the addiction, so that she can't try and sate it herself, but… it's not pleasant to watch. It's best to keep her distracted from it."

So they take turns reading for Maria and keeping her busy as she works through the medicine weaning regime Desmond had set for her.

She's out cold now, lost in unhappy, fitful dream, and Leonardo, as the kind soul he is, kept reading to her through it until Ezio distracted him.

"I don't know why I keep failing," Ezio says. "It is almost as if he's avoiding me, only he isn't – he treats me the same, except for when I try to – you know."

Leonardo looks at him. "And what is it you try do, exactly?"

Ezio gives him a defensive, embarrassed look. "You told me to prance in front of him shirtless!" he whispers.

"Good God, Ezio, I didn't mean it literally," Leonardo says and laughs. "But you really haven't succeeded? That's – unusual. For you, I mean. You'd think you of all people wouldn't have trouble with this."

Ezio tries not to blush. "I know how to show to advantage to a woman – I have no idea what draws a man's eye to another man," he says, trying not to sound as humiliated as he feels. Also there is the fact that every time he tries to draw Desmond's eye, his nerves get the better of him – but Leonardo doesn't need to know that, really. This is mortifying enough as it is.

Leonardo still laughs at him. "It's mostly the same things that draw a woman's eye, I understand," he says. "Just – good Lord, I can't believe I'm giving you advice in this. Untie your shirt a bit."

"What?" Ezio asks.

Leonardo motions at the fastenings of his shirt. "Show off your chest," he says, amused and a little wistful. "Trust me – it might just be enough."

Ezio glances at his mother uneasily, but she's mumbling in her sleep, utterly unaware, as he loosens the string holding the front of his shirt together, letting the collar fall open until his chest hair shows. It's nothing he'd not done to catch a woman's eye – but it's never felt… like this before.

"I feel ridiculous," Ezio mutters.

"That's because you _are_ ," Leonardo says without any mercy and picks up his book again. "At this rate, I'm not sure if it's his feeling we really need to be worried about – rather than yours. You're bumbling around like a fresh youth with his first infatuation."

Ezio huffs. "I have never been a target of a man's affections before," he mutters. "Forgive me for finding this a little unsettling."

The look Leonardo gives him is full of pity. "Oh, you have no idea," he says, and when Ezio frowns at him, the artist waves a dismissive hand. "Go on, let me know how it goes. Try not to humiliate yourself too badly."

_Too late for that, my friend._

He finds Desmond with the children, of course – they are all on the floor of one of the sitting rooms, with toys flung around them. Pietra and Federica are on the blanket too, and as Desmond, Giovanna and Matteo watch intently, Federica squirms where she lies on her stomach, making little huffs of effort as she tries to crawl and then, wiggling around, she flops to her back.

"She did it!" Giovanna says while Matteo kicks the blanket excitedly.

"Yes, and now watch her get exhausted as she can't figure out how to turn back around again," Desmond says with a laugh, reaching to ruffle Federica's short dark hair while the baby looks around excitedly, wiggling her legs like she wants to move but can't quite yet.

Watching Desmond help Federica so that she can turn over again, Ezio abruptly feels out of place and very indecent.

"How long has she been able to do that?" he asks awkwardly, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"We only noticed she turned over just now," Desmond says, glancing at him over his shoulder and then looking, stiffly, away. He blinks at the air beside Ezio and then looks back to the babies – Federica is in the process of turning back around, while Pietra is trying to chew on her own toes.

It's too fast to tell, but – Desmond doesn't usually look away that fast, does he? And Ezio thinks Desmond's ears might have gone redder. Had they? Or is he just imagining they did because he's looking for it and expecting it?

Ezio feels stupid – he feels anxious and bothered and uncertain and like this whole thing is a mistake. It has to be.

"But now she's done it twice more, so I think we can call that a skill," Desmond says, smile in his voice, not looking at him.

_This is ridiculous._

Shaking his head, Ezio walks over and then sits down on the other side of the blanket, with the babies inbetween them. Desmond glances up as he crosses his ankles, and Ezio sighs.

"That's great," he says and turns his eyes to Federica. "What else have I missed?"

"Well," Desmond says, clearing his throat. "What have we been doing today, let's see. Someone broke into my laboratory –"

"I didn't break in, I only wanted to borrow the microscope because mine stopped working!" Giovanna objects quickly.

"Ah, apologies. Someone _broke their microscope,_ and then broke into my laboratory to _steal mine to replace it_ ," Desmond says exaggeratedly, and Giovanna huffs. "Don't pout, sweetheart – you should have just brought me the broken one, and I would have fixed it."

"But yours has better magnification," she mutters.

"Uh-huh," Desmond says, amusedly. "Anyway, someone is now grounded. After that excitement, we tried a bit of writing –"

"Which is _boring_ – I wanted to do science –"

"Half of science is writing it down, sweetheart – if you don't write it down, then you're just fooling around…"

Ezio looks between them, while Federica kicks at the air and Pietra succeeds in stuffing half of her toes into her mouth. Desmond isn't looking at him, but every now and then his eyes flicker Ezio's way, and there is a persistent flush of red around his ears and the back of this neck. He is looking, he's definitely _looking_ and it's affecting him, Ezio was _right,_ he must have been right, and yet –

Ezio looks at the way Desmond mock-argues with frustrated Giovanna, while Matteo looks between them like it's a particularly exciting duel, and the smile on Desmond's face is incandescent. He looks decades younger, really – the wrinkles on his face are only laughter lines and his eyes shine, and whenever he glances at Ezio, Ezio feels –

_Oh no._

* * *

 

"Leonardo," Ezio says, utterly dejected.

"Oh no, do we need more wine?" Leonardo asks sympathetically.

Ezio holds up a bottle. "I brought my own."

The look Leonardo gives him is full of wary pity, and with a sigh he lets Ezio in before heading to fetch the glasses. Ezio sets the bottle down, but he can't make himself sit, he's too full of anxious energy that has nowhere to go. A battle would come in handy right now – or a race, or just… a regular old fist fight with some cheating drunkard.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Leonardo asks, sitting down and pouring for them.

"I –" Ezio says, stops, and then grabs the fuller glass and downs it in one go. It's good wine, very expensive, straight from Claudia's wine cellar – he can't taste a drop of it. "Leonardo, he's so _old_!"

Leonardo looks up at that, astonished. "Ezio, my friend – I doubt the man would ever actually expect anything from you – has he ever even made a move towards it?" He asks with some alarm. "I don't think Desmond ever would ask you to _do anything,_ let alone demand it –"

"No, you don't understand –" Ezio says, despairing. "He's – so old. He's over three hundred years old!"

"That is – very old, yes," Leonardo agrees warily. "But – no one expects you to –"

"What do I even have to give to someone like that?" Ezio asks, pacing along the length of Leonardo's rooms. "The things he's done, Leonardo, you can't even imagine –"

"Wait – has he _done something to you?_ " Leonardo asks sharply.

"What? No, not to me, in the future. You know he's a king?" Ezio asks. "He ruled a nation in the future, for three hundred years. He showed it to me – it was incredible, beyond anything I could even accomplish. The people he ruled loved him so much that they made him near immortal with it – with their magic, extending his life out of sheer love for him. How can any of this," be notions around them, "compare?"

Leonardo shakes his head. "Ezio, I don't understand," he admits.

"I don't either," Ezio says and collapses to sit beside him. "Fuck," he murmurs and runs his hands over his face, trying to get his thoughts into order. "Do you know, he offered to teach magic to me? To make me like him, to give me the the same power he has. Somehow he thinks I'd do better with it – but I know I wouldn't. I couldn't be like him, self-sacrificing like that. I'm too selfish."

Leonardo leans back, watching him confusedly. "This is not about him being in love with you anymore, is it?"

Ezio stares at his hands and then bows his head.

Three hundred years – is so long, that it barely even registers as an _age a person might have._  And yet, there is also that – Desmond is old, and a childish part of Ezio is so utterly baffled by it that he can barely think around it. Though he's never shied away from mature women, even he had his limits, and he doubts he'd ever slept with anyone older than forty years. Desmond is three hundred. He isn't beautiful with youth – he's dignified with age. Ezio has no idea what to do with that.

Desmond is also very male – Ezio has even less of a notion what to do with _that._

"What am I going to do?" Ezio asks helplessly.

"About magic or –?"

"I think I'm in love with him _,_ Leonardo."

Leonardo stares at him blankly for a long moment. Then he offers, "Let's get drunk."

Ezio looks at him and then nods. "Excellent plan," he decides.

And then they do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favourite chapter so far. Ah, I love Ezio, I really do. Poor Leo. Lol.


	25. Chapter 25

"Papa. Wake up, papa."

The whisper comes from directly at Desmond's ear and with long practice he doesn't jolt awake and knock his head against Giovanna's – though the first few times it had been a near thing. Instead he hums and pulls the blanket over his head, murmuring, "Five more minutes," and grinning.

"Nooo," Giovanna whispers, frustrated, and tugs at him. "Papa, I'm bored. Wake up."

Desmond gives it a few moments, until she starts pushing at his shoulder and making him jostle, and finally peeks out so that she doesn't end up waking Matteo. "Why, Giovanna, I didn't notice you there, how long have you been there?" he asks with exaggerated astonishment.

"Forever," Giovanna says with a pout and tugs at him. "Come _on_ , I am bored and thirsty and I need to pee."

"You know you can go pee by yourself, right? I know you know how. It's not even far."

She pouts harder.

Desmond smiles and reaches to pull her closer to smack a good morning kiss to her cheek before easing himself up, careful not to jostle still sleeping Matteo. "Alright, alright. Give me a moment."

Giovanna hops from one feet to another theatrically as he pulls his robes on, checks up on the twins and then finally turns to her. Together they go through her morning routine, Desmond keeping dutiful guard over her until she's done and then taking her to the kitchen to get something to drink.

The cook and her assistants are full at work, baking bread for the day and readying the day's breakfast ingredients. "Ser Desmond," the cook says, forbiding, "You need to learn to _call for servants_. You can't just show up here in all hours of the day, not when we're cooking."

"I guess I forgot," Desmond says, smiling at her. "You're still not using the filter I made for you, I see."

She glances at the water filter he'd made, rolls her eyes, and motions one of the assistants to see to them. "Begone with you," the cook says. "We are _busy_ here."

"Yes, yes, thank you. You really should use the filter though, it will make water much cleaner for cooking – "

"Out!"

Giovanna, very seriously accepting a tray of cups and treats from the cook's assistant while Desmond takes the heavier pitchers, looks up at Desmond. "She's rude."

"She is _busy_ ," the cook says and motions them to go.

"She is very rude," Desmond agrees solemnly. "But I think she might also be busy."

Giovanna snorts, and they're banished from the kitchens. Together they take their drinks and treats up to their rooms, where Matteo and the twins are still fast asleep and everything is quiet. Desmond sets the pitchers down on the main room table, while Giovanna hauls the cups in, and after she's gotten her drink, they head to check up on Maria.

She's awake, as she usually is – up before the sun is.

"Good morning, Maria," Desmond says, while Giovanna gauges Maria's mood and then runs over to her bed and climbs up on it. "How are you feeling today?"

"A little ill – good morning, little one," Maria says to Giovanna.

"Good morning, grandmama," Giovanna says politely. She's still a little wary of Maria – the woman has some difficulty controlling her emotions, and it's always toss of a coin of whether she's in a good mood or… not. Today seems to be a good day.

"Let's check up on you," Desmond says, coming to Maria's side and setting his hand on her head. She closes her eyes and sighs, relaxing a little into it as Desmond scans her physiology. Her blood pressure is much more level now, and the buildup of toxins is starting to clear out – but of course, she's still weaning off, so every day she gets a new, increasingly smaller, dose of laudanum.

"Do you have an upset stomach?" Desmond asks.

"A little," Maria admits. "I thought – I would have some tea."

"No tea, I'm sorry. Water," Desmond says and checks the bedside table. She knows enough that she wants something – the addiction is still craving a bigger dose – but she doesn't know what, so… she defaults to tea most often than not, thinking that must be it. And partially it is – it does have caffeine, after all. But though the placebo effect of it helps her a little… it's not so helpful in other ways. "You're dehydrated again, you need to drink more water."

Maria sighs. "Yes, doctor, I will try," she says. "I don't suppose I could have it sweetened?"

Desmond considers her. "I'll see about having the cook make a juice for you, you do need more vitamins still," he says and sits by her bed, taking her hand. "But you are getting better. It might not feel like it right now, but you're already much better."

"Yes, I feel it," Maria says and shudders. "I only wish I wasn't so cold all the time."

"I'll get you a shawl!" Giovanna says and rushes over to get it.

"She's a dear," Maria says, smiling after her.

"She has her moments," Desmond says and pats her hand. "Now, I was thinking of some reading practice for her. Would you like to join us?"

"Oh, absolutely."

They spent the early hours thus, with Giovanna slowly and awkwardly reading from a story book with Desmond and Maria helping her with the more difficult words. Maria still gets lost in thought every now and then – the effects of the belladonna are still lingering in her systems, sadly, some of the damage was permanent – but mostly she keeps up with it, lucid and increasingly steady.

Once she'd be through the detox and a little stronger, Desmond could fix that damage too, and she should be back to hundred percent. Just few more weeks, and Ezio would have his mother back, fully and in full control of her faculties.

Desmond can't wait.

* * *

 

The twins wake up next – first Pietra, who wakes up without fuss, and then Federica, who wakes up with a whole load of fuss. While Giovanna works through her letters, Desmond goes to pick them up, cleaning them and dressing them quickly in day clothes – which he had to make Assassin-esque, because it was too cute not to – before carrying them out of the bedroom to feed them.

"Can we play outside today?" Giovanna asks, looking up from her toys.

Desmond looks towards the window. "If it doesn't begin raining again," he says, idly patting Pietra's back as she drinks from her bottle. "We'll see little later, it's still a bit early. But if the weather holds, I think it would be nice to go outside for a while."

The twins finish their breakfast in no time at all, and after checking that they're all good, Desmond spreads out the blankets to give them some tummy time. Federica is very much into it now that she has learned a new game – namely, turning over so that Desmond has to flip her over again – but Pietra isn't that into it yet. So, as per usual, Desmond starts out by laying down and holding her against his chest, playing with her until she forgets that she doesn't like lying on her belly.

"This isn't so bad, is it?" Desmond asks, and strokes her back gently. "It's not so bad." She drools on his chest in answer. Adorable.

"When is Matteo going to wake up?" Giovanna asks impatiently.

"Let him sleep, he'll wake up when he does," Desmond says, but by habit mentally checks up on the boy, just in case. All healthy, all systems clear, sleeping snugly burrowed in the middle of the bed. "He's a bit younger, so he needs more sleep.

Giovanna huffs, bored, and then lies down to watch Federica. "The babies don't sleep as much."

"They sleep a lot more, honey, they sleep all the time during the day," Desmond reminds her and tilts his head to look at her. "Would you like to play with something? Maybe you should make a castle out of blocks."

"No, it's boring to do alone," Giovanna says and kicks at the blanket, pouting.

"Hmm," Desmond considers her and then tilts his head. Leonardo is still asleep, it feels like. Claudia is awake, but she's not much for spending time with the children – or rather, she is, but she doesn't know how to do it right, and Giovanna tends to just get bored with her.

"Your father seems to be awake," Desmond comments and then frowns. Ezio feels a little… sickly? "Can you go fetch the sling, sweetheart?"

Giovanna hops up and quickly goes to fetch the cloth. Desmond lays Pietra down on her back just as Federica rolls over, again. Quickly Desmond winds the sling around himself, making pockets in it for the babies and then tucking them in, the sling secured around them so that there is no danger of them slipping out. Federica, as per usual, conks out halfway through the process – she usually does – while Pietra is wide awake and watching the world curiously.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's go check up on your father," Desmond says.

They find Ezio in one of the sitting rooms, lying on the couch and looking very green around the gills – and it only takes one whiff of the air to figure out why. The guy has been drinking – and not just a little bit.

"Ah," Desmond says, and it startles the Assassin bad enough that he almost falls of the couch. "You had a fun night, then?"

Ezio, grabbing for support at the back of the couch, looks up at him with alarm and then slumps down. "Ugh, I have many regrets," he says and runs a hand over his forehead. "Word to the wise; do not ever try to drink Leonardo under the table, that man has the tolerance of a demon."

"I… honestly was never going to," Desmond says, watching him curiously while Giovanna hesitates, stepping closer to him. He'd thought Ezio might have a flu or something and was thinking of curing it before it got too bad, but… hangover is an entirely different thing. "Do I want to know what brought this on?"

Ezio glances at him through his fingers, looking utterly miserable. "Please, don't ask."

"Alright," Desmond snorts. "Well, I guess we'll leave you to it. Drink plenty of water, Ezio – maybe some willow bark extract, if you have some…"

"Wait," Ezio says before he can turn and leave. With a groan the Assassin straightens up, rubbing at his neck. He's still wearing the same shirt he was the day before, and he's inadvertently tugging at the collar, making it gape even wider. "Give me a moment to wake up."

Desmond looks up at the bookshelf behind the couch and wryly wishes he had a god to pray patience from. "Maybe you should go find a bed to sleep it off in," he suggests.

"I think I will," Ezio says, rubbing at his eyes and then looking up. He looks at Desmond with a strange sort of dejection and then says, "I'm sorry – about yesterday."

"What for?" Desmond asks, confused, and looks down from Ezio's face and – oh dear. He clears his throat. "Did you do something?"

Ezio eyes him with expectation and then sighs. "No, I guess I didn't," he mutters and then shakes his head, standing up. He sways a little, and there's an audible crack as he straightens his spine – and, oh lord, the groan he lets out is _indecent_.

"Papa," Giovanna says quietly. "Is daddy ill?"

"He's hungover," Desmond snorts and shakes his head. "Because he spent too long drinking – which, by the by… don't do that where Matteo might see it, Ezio," he adds. "I don't think he remembers much about it anymore, kids forget fast, but still. There's a reason why he still doesn't talk much."

"… ah," Ezio says, and his shoulders slump, and the side of his shirt slips down, almost over his bare shoulder and – yeah, that's enough, that's _too much_. "Damn, I didn't – I didn't think. I'm sorry – I'll make sure it doesn't happen."

Desmond turns to leave. "Thank you. Go clean up, Ezio," he says and stops himself from saying, _and put some proper clothes on, for crying out loud,_ like some sort of old-timey busybody. Christ. "We'll see you at breakfast."

"Desmond –" Ezio starts to say, still weirdly dejected. Then he sighs. "I'll see you at breakfast."

Desmond nods, a little confused, but eager to get out of there. "Come on, Giovanna, let's go see if your brother might be awake."

"Is drinking bad for you?" Giovanna asks, as they step out of the sitting room. "You're always telling grandmama to drink more water.

"If it's clean, water is good for you," Desmond says, amused. "But the stuff daddy drank and the quantities he drank it in, that's a different thing. Remind me to tell you about the effects of alcohol on the body in about…" he considers her. "Ten years. Actually, make it eight," he says. He's pretty sure the first time he drank some he was fourteen?

Giovanna counts her fingers. "Well, it's not twenty years," she says, and shrugs. "But why is daddy drinking stuff that's bad for him?"

"Because sometimes he's a bit dumb," Desmond says with a laugh. "But we'll forgive him that, don't we? Unless of course he gets too dumb, and then we shall call him out on it without mercy."

* * *

 

Meals at the Auditore villa are communal, though thankfully not as public as the ones at Rocca di Ravaldino. Sometimes Claudia invites the more well-off citizens of Monteriggioni to visit and dine with them – merchants, captain of the guard, the officials who work for her, the priest of the local church – but mostly it's just the Auditore family and their closest friends. Which generally means Leonardo, Desmond, and the children.

These days Maria joins them too, talking with Claudia and Mario and trying to catch up on all the things that had passed her by during the last ten years of her stupor.

Desmond keeps to the other side of the table, though, often sitting with Leonardo – that way the kids won't bother the others' dinner conversation. This morning, Leonardo isn't there – likely being in a worse shape than Ezio, who can only pick at his food, looking queasily at it. Pity, it probably means he's not up for watching the children so that Desmond could try and get some work done at the laboratory.

He's almost done with the vaccines now, not only with the production but also writing down the process of replication. Once that is done, and Maria was fully recovered, there would be only one thing left to do. Which, granted, is proving out to be a bit… trickier than he expected it to be.

While Desmond watches over Giovanna and Matteo to make sure they're eating plenty, he can feel someone watching him. It turns out to be Ezio, who gets occasionally lost staring in his direction and then, when Desmond looks up, quickly turns back to his conversation with Mario, Claudia, Maria. He's dressed properly now, thankfully – though he still hasn't managed to find a vest that fits – though the night before is still obviously having an effect on the man. And whatever he and Leonardo had been drinking for, it obviously hasn't been resolved.

And, Desmond is starting to think, it has something to do with him.

Looking down to the twins to cover his unease, Desmond idly fusses over the sling for a bit, making sure they're comfortable, and wondering. Maybe Ezio had told Leonardo about the Golden City, about the Faith – maybe together they'd figured it out. It would be about time.

Maybe… he should get to work and finish what he needs to, while there's still time, while he still has enough trust to cash in.

"Ezio, could you watch over the children today?" he asks, once there's a break in the conversation at the other end of the table. "I would like to get some work done at the laboratory today."

"Yes, of course," Ezio says quickly and coughs. "Do you need anything up there, any new materials…?"

"No, I have everything I need at hand," Desmond says. "I just need to put the actual work in, now."

"Alright, I'll watch over the children," Ezio promises, and if Desmond isn't mistaken it seems… a bit too eager, maybe.

Desmond hesitates and then lets the thought go. Better not leap into conclusions. "Thank you," He says and smiles to Giovanna and Matteo. "Will you be good for daddy?"

"Yes, papa," Giovanna says, obviously already planning the shenanigans she can rope Ezio into, while Matteo nods, licking his spoon.

"Good," Desmond says, smiling. "That's good."

* * *

 

Desmond cheats during the final steps of the vaccine production, separating and purifying the antigens by, well… there's no point, really, in denying that it is magic as this point, is there? Still, he writes down the process of it for people without supernatural powers, though there really aren't the right chemicals or the right equipment to do it. Well, Leonardo might be able to invent them, derivatiating from the knowledge that they are _possible_ inventions, if Desmond can't produce them himself.

Once done, he seals the batches of vaccines for the twins in cool, sealed containers which would, with a little bit of cheating on the containers, store them until they Federica and Pietra are old enough to have them applied. The batches for Giovanna and Matteo he would use that evening – and then, unless they objected, he'd immunise the older Auditore as well. Maria especially, her immune system is so weak that a bad cold would be fatal at this point.

With the medicine done and carefully stored in a container for later use, Desmond takes a moment to breathe and look around the laboratory.

He still remembers, if very vaguely, when Ezio used this room in his youth. There's still some of his equipment there – oils and brushes and rags for armour maintenance, and all the _paintings_ … Honestly, Desmond hadn't realised they were real, the paintings, but apparently they are – and Ezio painted them himself, which was rather amazing to find out. Despite all the art collections – the whole family is made of art magpies, seriously – Ezio doesn't seem like a guy who would _paint_.

Though then again, he did get very poetic in his older years, didn't he? Or will get, now.

Pushing away from the counter, Desmond goes to where the paintings are stacked, looking them over. Vieri, Francesco, Uberto… and so on. The entire Pazzi conspiracy. Then there are the Barbarigos. The Orsi aren't there, curiously – they didn't register as a big enough threat maybe? Or Ezio hasn't had the time or inspiration to paint them, yet. Rodrigo Borgia is missing too – which really makes him wonder about the paintings that had been in the Tiber Island hideout.

Hideout, which, really… might never come to be now.

Kneeling on the floor as he peruses the portraits, Desmond sighs. He's derailed history so much already. Should the vaccine production spread – and honestly, he really wishes it will – that would be good four hundred years of medicine, completely upturned. Really, all it would take was Leonardo sketching down the construction of a microscope and sending it to some select individuals, and that would already change the future _massively_.

Desmond had cared about it more, once – but now… what are five hundred years, what is history? What is any of it, in the face of the Solar Flare and upcoming end of the world, and all that came after it? What is time, really, at this point?

What does any of it matter, in comparison to the children – to _Ezio_ – and seeing them happy and healthy and safe?

"Finally gotten sappy in my old age, huh," Desmond murmurs, running his fingers over the brushstrokes. It's a pity Ezio had only ever painted his enemies. He's not bad at all at it. It's even bigger pity that none of these paintings survived into the future – Ezio painted amazing portraits, and no one in the future knew it, while Leonardo, who lived right by him, became world famous. Granted, Leonardo is an objectively better artist, but still… it's sad that Ezio ended up remembered only for his accomplishments in the Brotherhood. No one remembered him as an artist, or even as a poet, for all the beautiful prose he could write.

_When I was a young man, I had liberty, but I did not see it. I had time, but I did not know it. And I had love, but I did not feel it._

Well, maybe this time he would see, and live a happier life for it.

Sighing, Desmond puts the paintings away and then turns to his work table. There is a lump of misshapen, melted gold there – formerly florins – which is waiting for transmutation. Well, not waiting. Rather… resisting.

"Would you like to work for me today?" Desmond asks wryly and walks over to the lump. It's cold and inert to the touch, which is not very encouraging, it never is. Sighing, Desmond lays his hand on the gold and closes his eyes.

His final message, it should be a good one. All he has to do is _make it,_ and he's made greater things than this, he should be able to do it. He just has to… _Believe_. And he's believed _buildings_ into existence, how hard can it be? He has the materials, he knows the pattern, he should be able to do it. It just takes Belief.

And yet, once more, the gold refuses to take the shape he wants it to.

"Damn it," Desmond murmurs and with a sigh runs his hand over his neck, glaring at the inert lump of precious metal. Looks like he's going to need Ezio to do it, after all. Which, if Ezio is finally getting the hint of how dangerous he truly is…


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for usage of syringes

Ezio watches with interest as Desmond holds the strange looking, needle pointed _thing_ in his hand – syringe, he calls it. It looks vaguely dangerous, like something you might deliver poisons with, but according to Desmond, this one delivers cures.

"Not that you can't poison people with this, of course you can. All you have to do is load up the syringe with air, and it's lethal," the man says, measuring some of the medicine into the device. "But this stuff won't kill you. I'm going to need your shoulder now."

"My shoulder?" Ezio asks, curious.

"Yes – I need it bare. Take off your shirt."

Well, now _there's_ all the excuse, of course there is. Ezio hesitates only a moment and then takes off his vest and his shirt, trying to keep himself from doing something stupid – like puffing his chest up like a youth with more confidence than muscle. He's definitely not lacking in the latter, he doesn't need to hold his breath and suck his gut in to show off well.

With Desmond watching him though, it's a little tempting – just to see it he would react. The magician only looks at his shoulder though, considering the muscles there briefly before reaching for a previously prepared wad of linen, soaked through with clear alcohol. The touch of it feels cold and thrilling, all at once.

"How does it work? Are you going to put it directly into my veins?" Ezio asks, more to distract himself than for any true need to know. Desmond will touch him now, and his body is inclined to hold his breath – lord, Leonardo is right, he is utterly ridiculous.

"No – to the muscle, here," Desmond says, wiping the wad over a spot. "The idea of a vaccine is that it is in essence a small infection – I am giving you a minute dose of the illness I want to protect you from. It won't make you sick, it's small enough for your body to easily fight off – and in so doing, your body learns to identify the sickness and fight it off better in the future. Here, on the arm, the vaccine comes very close to several lymph nodes – they're an essential part of your immune system – which will make the vaccine that much faster acting."

"I see," Ezio says, though he mostly does _not_ see. Lymph nodes?

"Are you ready? It shouldn't hurt much, but… I will be putting this needle into your skin, so…" Desmond trails off, looking at him expectantly.

"I'm fairly certain I've felt worse things than a prick of a needle," Ezio says, huffing with amusement. "Go right ahead."

He's honestly more interested in the touch of golden fingers on his arm, the thumb tugging at his skin gently to situate it just so. Desmond's hand is not only warm – it is radiating heat like there is a gentle flame burning inside, and he leaves traces of warmth wherever he touches. Ezio thinks that if he looked upon his shoulder with Eagle Vision, he'd see golden fingerprints. It's wholly distracting.

Still, it makes for a somewhat stomach-turning viewing, to watch the needle touch his skin and then – shorten. It takes him a blink to realise it's going _into_ his skin – and he cannot even feel it, not at first – and even then it only feels like a tug under his skin.

"Okay?" Desmond asks, not looking up from what he is doing.

"I cannot even feel it," Ezio says, confused.

"Good, I managed to miss the nerves then – this will just take a moment…"

Then Desmond pushes down at the bottom of the syringe, and the little glass container of liquid is emptied, its contents deposited under Ezio's skin – and _that_ he can feel, a spread of tingling coolness in his flesh, utterly alien and peculiar.

Then Desmond pulls the needle out, and the thing is accomplished.

"There," the old magician says, taking another wad of alcohol-wet linen and pressing it on Ezio's shoulder. "That's just the first one, but it will protect you against diphtheria, polio and tetanus, which for you is the worst risk, I think."

"Tetanus?"

"Lockjaw," Desmond explains. "You can get it from puncture wounds from unclean things – like blades, rusty nails…"

"Ah," Ezio says, swallowing. "Well, I am glad I will be immune to it. I didn't realise it was a sickness."

"It's a bacterial infection," Desmond shrugs and then presses his palm on Ezio's shoulder, his fingers glowing genty as he looks within. "Hm, looks like your body is dealing with it already, good. I want you to stay close for an hour or two, there's a minute chance of a bad reaction I need to watch for, and after that I want to check up on you every now and then just in case... but aside from that you're done."

Ezio almost objects when he pulls his hand away, but Desmond is already turning to deal with the syringe, carrying it and the bottle of the vaccine to another table, leaving Ezio sitting there without a shirt with a vague persistent tingle on his shoulder. "An hour here?" Ezio asks, half wary and half elated. They don't get time alone, as such – certainly not an hour. There are always children underfoot, and as much as Ezio loves his children…

Desmond glances at him and then looks down to his work table. "No, we can go downstairs," he says. "I just want to keep an eye on you, it doesn't matter where."

Ezio tugs at his shirt, dithering in pulling it back on. "I have yet to see much of the work you do here," he says, leading. "Would you show me?" Does that sound suggestive, needy? He cannot tell anymore, good lord.

Desmond doesn't look up. He holds the syringe in his hand, and briefly the lines on his body flash – then he puts the syringe among the others, no doubt now cleaned and sterilised on a most complete, minuscule level. "Alright," he says. "Actually, there is something… about my work I meant to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Ezio asks, trying not to sound too eager. "What is it?"

He gets no answer immediately. Desmond seals the vaccine bottle in a chest he'd made – the inside of which Ezio knows stays briskly cold somehow. There's a moment when Ezio wonders if the man is stalling – and then he knows he is, because though there is no need for it, Desmond begins to tidy the desk.

"Desmond?" Ezio asks, suspicion and worry sneaking into his mind. "What is it?"

"I can't finish it," Desmond murmurs, almost too low to be heard and then sighs, lifting his head and resting his hands on the desk, his arms straight. "I'm almost done with what I set out to do here. The vaccines are ready, I just need to make sure they are as safe as I think they are before administering them to the kids. After that, there's the message," he says and shakes his head. "And for some reason I can't finish it."

Ezio frowns and then gives into the inevitable and pulls his shirt back on. He stands up. "I assume you don't mean just writing a letter," he says.

"No," Desmond admits and glances at him. "The Isu had means to record memories on physical objects – discs. I want to make one, but I can't – I don't know how they were made in the first place, and… I can't make something I don't _understand_.

Ezio hums, not quite understanding himself. "You mean to leave your message in form of _memories_ ," he says, just to clarify.

"It's the easiest, most secure way to get _everything_ I need to tell myself into the future," Desmond says and sighs. "I can encode it so that only he – me – can activate it, which will make it safer than any other option. But I can't _make_ the damn thing. I'm sure I have all the materials, but I just… I can't bend my mind the right way."

He gives Ezio a rueful smile at that, like it's an embarrassing failing – as if he is not speaking of making things with the power of his _mind_. Ezio shakes his head, smiling in part amusement and in part bewilderment – he isn't sure what to even say to such a problem, or the idea that it might be considered _embarrassing_. "Then I suppose you will have to think of another way?" he offers.

Desmond sighs and shakes his head. "I could – but it wouldn't get the message across properly," he says. "I want it to be _this_ way."

"Are any of these discs… still around?" Ezio asks. "We could procure one for you, if you know where to find them."

Desmond is quiet for a moment, running a gold-fingered hand over his head and neck, making Ezio intensely aware of the texture of his hair, and that he does not know how it feels under the hand. Prickly, springy? Though shorn short, Desmond has still a full head of hair growing strong, if silver. It curls at the temples. Has Desmond ever worn it long? He certainly would've had the time to grow it out, a thousand times over…

"There are," Desmond says, distracting him from his distraction. "But they're nowhere close. There are some in Constantinople, and another in Masyaf, but they hold Altaïr's memories – I… don't want to tamper with them."

"Altaïr? Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad?" Ezio asks, blinking with surprise.

Desmond smiles, looking at him. "You went after them later in life, when you were about as old as I look," he admits. "They are keys that open a secret vault under Masyaf – Altaïr's tomb. There is another Apple of Eden there."

Lord. "Another artefact? How many of them are there?" Ezio asks, worried.

"I don't know. Couple dozen maybe? Most of them are buried though, and probably are best left buried," Desmond says and finally turns to face him. Ezio finds himself swaying towards him and then, catching himself, he leans away.

"Well," Ezio says. "If we cannot procure these discs for you, what else can be done?" he asks. "If you cannot make one, or find one near enough to be of use… then surely another mean of leaving a message is the only option."

"No, not the only option," Desmond admits, bowing his head a little. He clears his throat, and Ezio's heart skips – but it is not a distraction that Desmond tries to loosen from, but unease. "Have you… have you had the chance to work at the Apple?"

"What do you mean, at it?" Ezio asks, uncertain.

"I told you, you could probably tame it, drive the influence of the Isu out of it," Desmond says. "Have you tried?"

"I – no, I have not even touched it," Ezio admits, surprised. "I keep it with me, but I do not use it, I try not to even think of it, lest it try to influence my thought. I'm sorry – did you mean I should? I didn't realise."

"Well, I hoped it wouldn't come to it," Desmond admits quietly. "But I need your help. I… need you to use the Apple on me."

Ezio's heart makes a sudden, almost pained leap. "What? No –"

Desmond smiles wryly, shaking his head. "I told you I don't have much in the way of imagination? I steal designs from history, I lean on science and chemistry, because… I guess I have a rational sort of mind. The effect of Isu genes in me," he says ruefully. "If I had imagination, I wouldn't need it, I could just imagine things and believe them into existence and _poof_ , there we are. But I can't. So… I want you to… make me."

Ezio's mouth works silently for a moment, and he can barely get a sound out. "Make – you?" he asks then, a little strangled. "You mean, use the Apple on you, thrall you under its power, and _make you believe_? Like the Isu did to their human slaves?"

"Yes," Desmond agrees and looks at him. "If you do that, then… I think I won't have any problem in finishing the message. Your command will override my reservations and – "

"I –" Ezio starts to object, thrown utterly by this suggestion. It seems both horrible and, in stark contrast, perfectly logical, in this confusing, mired world of Faith and Belief and Magic where Desmond exists. Of course it would work, and of course Desmond would have no issues suggesting such a thing. His trust in Ezio is explicit. It is also terrifying. "I – this goes against all Assassins believe in, you realise. Safety and freedom of mankind, protection of free will…"

"Well, you would be protecting mine," Desmond says with a faint smile and shakes his head. "It wouldn't be for long, just a few minutes, maybe not even that."

But to control a man of Desmond's power, to have him thralled and _enslaved_ on such a terrible deep level, even for that long… the very notion makes hot, terrible fear creep up Ezio's spine. "You would trust me with this," he says faintly.

"No one else," Desmond says and then makes a face, folding his arms and looking down – at the pouch at Ezio's hip. "But before that, you need to master the Apple – and chase Juno's influence out of it. Otherwise…"

Ezio glances down and hums. He doesn't know the threat of Juno so well, but for Desmond to fear it and be wary of it – and of what her influence might do with the power of one such as Desmond… it's not a small risk. "What will I have to do to master the Apple then?" Ezio asks. "How do I drive their influence from it?"

"Honestly?" Desmond asks and chuckles faintly. "I have no idea. But if anyone can do it, it's you."

He smiles, and Ezio stares at him, helpless with the mix of hopeless emotions. God, he really loves the man – but sometimes, Desmond's near blind trust in him is as frustrating as it is humbling. "That is not very helpful," Ezio says, shaking his head.

"I don't think I can help you with this," Desmond admits. "It has to be you. Just you."

Ezio sighs and rests his hand on the Apple. "Very well," he says. "I will try."

* * *

 

After a day of monitoring Ezio, Desmond pronounces the vaccination a success – before proceeding to give Ezio several others, to protect him from a number of diseases that Ezio loses quickly track of, and which makes him wonder. "You make me feel like I died of about a dozen things," he complains, rubbing at his arm.

"You didn't – but the future is different now," Desmond says, turning away. "And I am not taking my chances with you."

While Ezio wonders at the resolve of that statement – if there is something behind it – Desmond turns to their children. Giovanna goes next, receiving her injections with a brave face and fascination, watching closely as Desmond puts the syringe to her shoulder and wincing at the touch of it. She, it seems, does not survive the injection without pain.

"There you go, there's a brave girl," Desmond says, cleaning the injection point and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Now stay put for a bit, alright? I need to make sure everything goes smoothly."

"Mmhmm," Giovanna answers, tugging at her shoulder to see the puncture mark.

"And don't scratch it," Desmond says firmly.

"Come here, dear heart," Ezio says, with the intention to keep her from playing with the mark. "Let's watch your papa work."

Giovanna quickly squirms her way into his lap and then they watch Matteo receive his vaccination from a new, clean needle with a quietly murmurs, "Ow." He too stays put, though – Desmond has taught their children well there, and even when the thing hurts, they trust him implicitly when he tells them it's for a good reason. Ezio feels all but inflated with pride.

The twins have a much harder time taking the injections though. While Matteo squirms up to sit on Ezio's knee, Pietra shrieks _terribly_ as Desmond gives her the injection, with a much smaller needle, the dosage also much smaller. Desmond's face twists with near physical pain at the sound of it, and he murmurs tender apologies and kisses her many times, before moving to Federica – who doesn't take it any better.

Once done and cleaned, Desmond sweeps both babes to his arms and cuddles them close, rocking them and murmuring tenderly, "There there, it's over, it was necessary, but it's now over, it's alright, shh, sweethearts, it's okay."

Ezio watches him with Giovanna tucked against his chest and Matteo sitting precariously in front of him, and for all that their youngest are shrieking in miserable wails, he cannot think for a moment he was more content. Their children are protected from many ailments, Desmond's love is all but _infused_ in the air around them, and everything is almost perfect. Almost.

There is a quality to the look in Desmond's eyes, a relief, which Ezio does not like, though. He knows it, he's seen it somewhere, though he cannot quite place it, but he does not think it's merely the relief of a man whose children are that much safer now.

More of a relief of a man who got something done at the nick of time.

"Now we won't get sick," Giovanna says, kicking out her legs a bit and flopping to lie across Ezio's chest. "Now we can do anything we want."

"You might still get sick," Desmond says, amused. "No vaccine against the common cold, I'm afraid. So no traipsing around in pouring rain in your undies."

"Well, I wouldn't have, anyway. I am a _lady_ ," Giovanna says primly, with the definite echo of Claudia in her voice. "Ladies don't frolic around half naked."

Desmond snorts at that, still rocking the twins, and Ezio smiles. "Yes you are," he says. "Now, we're going to have to wait and see that no one has any adverse reactions. Shall we play with blocks, your ladyship?"

Giovanna considers this and then nods very regally. "We shall."

And they do – and it's a lovely afternoon, with Desmond checking each of them every now and then with a warm, gold-adorned hand before proclaiming them safe, the vaccination success, no risks or setbacks in sight. Then they play some more, until the children wear themselves out, and it's bedtime.

"I don't think I can even begin to understand the value of what you did," Ezio comments, after the children have been tucked in with many kisses and delightful bedtime stories.

"Hm," Desmond answers. "There's danger in it too," he admits. "Illnesses get stronger in the future, as a result of stronger medicine and vaccines. And I introduced a lot of these vaccines… hundreds of years ahead of time. Who knows what that will do to medicine, and medicine-resistant viruses and bacteria…"

Ezio glances at him. "I suppose there's risk to everything," he says. "But honestly, selfishly? I am only glad my children are a little safer, and that is what I will concentrate on."

Desmond smiles ruefully at that, folding his arms loosely. "Yes, same," he says. "Parenthood makes you a little bit selfish, doesn't it?"

Feeling a little thrill at this implied _joint parenthood_ between them, even though it has always been thus, Ezio leans closer. "You never had children, in the future? You had such a long life…"

"No," Desmond says, shaking his head. "I didn't. People wanted me to, yes, they wanted me to have heirs, but…" he trails off. "By the time the worst was over and we had the time to think about things like having families… I was in charge, and everyone was in one form or another under my control. I could never be sure if their interest in me was honest or…"

"Or if they wanted your power?" Ezio asks quietly.

"Or if it was because they were _under_ my power," Desmond says and shrugs, looking at him. "My wishes could come to life. It made wishing for things… dangerous."

Ezio swallows at that, watching him, looking at his eyes, amber cut with golden lines. "What about now?" he asks before he can think better of it. "Surely it is safe to wish things for yourself now. Safe to… want."

Desmond blinks, and for a moment, for a little moment, Ezio holds his breath and thinks they share a thought, share a _want_. Then Desmond looks away, coughing. "I want to complete my work," he says. "Leave my message."

Ezio shifts his footing frustratedly, realising he does it as thought preparing for a battle when Desmond glances at him sharply. "And after that, after you have made your message?" Ezio asks. "After the work is done? Surely then…"

Desmond looks almost confused, glancing at his face with a frown. "I," he says, and then shakes his head. "I guess I haven't thought that far yet," he says and then, before Ezio can press on, he changes the subject with, "How goes the work with the Apple?"

"I – haven't started yet," Ezio admits, and withdraws, feeling a little colder all of a sudden. "I wanted to see the children vaccinated before getting distracted. I believe once I start, it will take a while. And likely all my attention."

Desmond nods, looking away. "It probably will," he says and moves away, towards the window. "I don't mean to push you, Ezio, but…"

"But you'd rather see it done sooner than later," Ezio guesses and sighs. "I understand. I will begin tonight."

"Thank you," Desmond says quietly. "I appreciate it."

Ezio nods, rubbing a hand over his neck and looking away. Perhaps it would be better to get it done and out of the way. Master the Apple, aid Desmond in leaving his message and once there would be no prior commitments, then…

Then they could be selfish again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup.


	27. Chapter 27

There's nothing to do but wait, now.

The vaccinations are finished, and by the end of the week Desmond has run all the Auditore through their sets, even Maria – though her dosage took a lot of care and watching. Leonardo, while not technically part of the family, also got his set of all the immunisations Desmond could give him, along with instructions on how to administer the rest.

"Vaccinations sometimes need a boost, just in case," Desmond says, while showing Leonardo how to clean and sterilise syringes. He'd made all of them reusable out of necessity – there is no way suitable ones could be made with what was present in the 15th century. "Because cells of human bodies have a limited lifespan, and newer cells in the immune system might not have the same immunity as the older ones do. But overall, you should be set for another ten years."

Leonardo watches him curiously, consideringly and nods. "I will remember," he says. "But, Desmond – will these medicine last so long?"

"The ones I will seal will," Desmond says. "Look for the bottles with gold in the caps – they will last for a hundred years."

Leonardo hears the message in between the lines, and obviously he doesn't like it. Desmond casts him a glance and then smiles, wry. "Just in case," he says and seals the medicine chest. "I have written it all down, but I want someone with actual experience to know this, to know how to administer these… in case it becomes necessary."

"I don't like the notion of such necessity happening without you there," Leonardo admits, looking at him. "Does this have something to do with Ezio's seclusion under the Villa? He's not come out for two days now."

Desmond draws a breath and releases it. He can feel Ezio working – the waxing and waning of power, as two powerful minds compete for control, Juno rising and Ezio stamping her will down. It makes the lines on his skin burn, even now. "You must have guessed at it," Desmond comments. "Why I am here."

Leonardo says nothing for a moment, looking at him seriously. "I wouldn't assume I know anything, but… I have guesses, yes, theories," he says. "But… none of them account for your future… absence."

Desmond runs a hand over the medicine chest and then withdraws, turning to look at the bedroom door – where the children sleep. Giovanna is spread-eagle on his bed, huffing quietly – she no longer looks to suck her thumb, and has grown into habit of snoring a bit, in its absence. Matteo never took to sucking his thumb at all, thankfully – he is sleeping in a little bundle at the foot of the bed, dreaming peacefully. The twins are content, fed, warm, dry.

Desmond wants to go to them, but time might be precious now. There is no telling how long Ezio will take.

"I… am preparing for a potential inevitability," Desmond answers and glances at Leonardo. "I haven't told you about time, or probability, have I?"

"We might have brushed upon the subject, but it was never a key feature," Leonardo admits, his whole body language growing wary. "But I have… theories on that score, concerning your existence."

Desmond nods, leaving it at that. Leonardo is smart enough, and he's too tired to lay it all out. Better get it over with – Leonardo would understand. "I aim to leave a message to myself," he says. "There is a very real chance that doing so will undo me."

"Undo you?" Leonardo asks. "But you are – "

Desmond shakes his head. He could never explain it fully – the way it feels, to be. "You know, I'm not entirely normal, these days," he says. "You know something of how my Faith works."

Leonardo swallows. "You've never… explicitly stated it," he says. "That it is a power of Belief, yes, the source of your abilities, but…"

"I can't tell how much of me is human, and how much of me is make-believe," Desmond admits and looks down at his hands. Almost more gold now than flesh – fingers golden all the way to the knuckles. It's climbing up the knuckles now, and his palms have a metallic sheen to them. Bit by bit he's turning into Something Else, a process that's been going on for centuries, which has not even stopped without the engine to power it.

"I'm going to try and stop the events that led to this transformation," Desmond says. "I don't know if I will live through it."

Leonardo's mouth opens, but for a moment he says nothing, just stares at him, his eyes widening. "Then, please, don't do it," he whispers.

"I have to," Desmond says and smiles. "It's why I am here."

"But – the children. And _Ezio_. You cannot simply – disappear," Leonardo says. "Why do this, why undo the future if it risks your own… undoing?"

"Because in five hundred years from now, the sun will scorch almost all life from the surface of the planet, and it has to be stopped," Desmond says and lowers his hands. "Ezio knows about it, I've told him everything. He knows I'm here to prevent it – it's the only reason I am here. Everything else… has been a bonus."

Leonardo glances towards the bedroom door and then back at him. Desmond smiles at his look. "Anyway," he says and turns away. "I don't know for sure if I will disappear, if anything at all will happen. It might not. But if it does… I want you to be ready."

The artist looks at him searchingly, narrowing his eyes and all but analysing Desmond's expression. "You are settling your affairs," he says faintly.

"What few of them I have," Desmond agrees. "They ended up fairly precious. Will you do this for me? Keep up with the vaccinations, just in case?"

"Of course," Leonardo says. "It'll be my honour. But, Desmond – have you told Ezio?"

Desmond doesn't answer, bowing his head a little.

"You must," the artist says urgently. "Especially if he is to play a part in this. Please – you know his history, if he has any hand in your – disappearance…"

Desmond's shoulders slump. "Wouldn't it be easier, if he didn't know?" he asks quietly.

"For _you_ , maybe – not for him, not after, if he's left with the aftermath," Leonardo says with surprising vehemence. "Please, he's already lost too much and he – " he stops there sharply and Desmond glances at him. Leonardo presses his lips tightly shut, looking upset.

So, Desmond hadn't been imagining things. Shit.

Running a hand over his beard, Desmond lets himself momentarily be distracted by the thought that he should trim it, or just shave it off. It's getting long again, and curly at the end. "If I tell him, he won't do it," he murmurs. "And it has to be done."

"Does it have to be done _now_?"

Yes, while Desmond still has his nerve and enough selflessness left to go through with it. While Ezio still trusts him enough to do as he asks. "Later it might not get done at all," Desmond admits and shakes his head. "And it _has to be done_."

Leonardo blows out a frustrated breath. "If you won't tell him, I will," he says, and Desmond looks up sharply. "I'm sorry, but as much as I respect you, Ezio is my oldest friend, I won't keep a thing like this from him. And neither should you, if you love him at all."

Desmond's lips twitch, they'd like to quiver, but he presses them together and looks down. Shit – he'd fallen into treating Leonardo like a Faithful – expecting unquestioned obedience. He should've known better – now Leonardo will tell Ezio, and it might all be ruined.

Desmond teeters in between emotions for a moment, frustration and regret and even aggravation… and lands finally at relief.

For all the things he'd taught Leonardo, and for how much of a Believer Leonardo has become… the man still has his sense of justice. His fairness. His loyalty to Ezio. Good, that's… that's good. Frustrating now, when Desmond would like him to do as he wanted, but still. It's good.

Leonardo watches him and then clears his throat, now growing a little uneasy at his silence. "And the children," he says quietly. "Surely you cannot simply… vanish without a word."

Desmond closes his eyes. "They're young, they will forget. Telling them now will just make these last days worse for all of us," he murmurs and shakes his head. "I'm selfish enough to want to enjoy normalcy."

"Then… you obviously want to stay, yes?" Leonardo says, almost imploring. "You have the power to will it be, don't you?"

"I don't know if I do," Desmond admits. "I've cheated time and death for a very long time. I think I might have accumulated bit of a debt at this point." Leonardo frowns at that, and Desmond smiles, turning to him. "It has to be done," he says again, with increasing frustration, like it's a prayer that will make it all make sense.

"And you _have to_ tell Ezio," Leonardo says. "I will do this task for you, I would even without the asking, but don't leave Ezio in the shadow. He's already too far in there."

Desmond isn't sure if he should pity Leonardo or feel awe for him. Maybe he should feel guilty – Leonardo has all this love for Ezio, all this loyalty, and Ezio laid his eyes on another instead. And even _then_ Leonardo is on Ezio's side, looking for his best interests. Ezio really lucked out, on this guy.

Leonardo is also right. If it happened, and Ezio didn't know… didn't expect it…

Shit. Desmond really is getting sentimental – selfishly so, wanting to preserve Ezio's good will until the last. Wanting to see him, right up to the end, as the hopeful young thing he is now, beautiful in all of his surprising optimism. Wanting to see him _happy._

"I'll tell him," Desmond promises finally, while below their feet the Apple's power surges upwards, and Ezio's will stamps it down again, a terrible reminder. Desmond shifts his footing, feeling almost as if he is standing on hot coals. "It won't make him happy," he says grimly.

"No, it won't," Leonardo agrees and says nothing more. The silence implies a lot of things – accusations above all.

Well. It was a time Leonardo saw him for the selfish old man he really was… wasn't it?

* * *

 

Like a withering plant no longer able to photosynthesise, Desmond soaks up the presence of the children, indulging their joys and adventurous whims and doing everything in his power to make them laugh. It feels like he's painting, in a weird way, in the hues of Giovanna's giggles, in the shades of Matteo's smiles, with joyful shrieks of laughter from the twins like colourful splatters across the canvas.

This is the impression he would like to die with. Laughter and joy. Not sombre worship or respect, not speeches or services, nothing like that. All he really wanted in life. … laughter and joy. It's hard to remember now, but he used to be a _bartender,_  and he's pretty sure the thing he enjoyed in his job the most was making people happy and relaxed.

Somewhere in the future, another Desmond still is a bartender and might never be anything else. Bartender, an Animus Subject, maybe an Assassin… certainly not a Mentor.

"Well, the kids will certainly sleep well tonight," Claudia comments from the doorway, watching as Desmond tosses Matteo into a pile of mattresses and cushions, to join Giovanna who is climbing out of it. "I heard you'd stripped the cushions from the sitting room, but I have to admit, I didn't put credit to it."

"We'll put them back, never fear," Desmond says, grinning as Giovanna collides with his knees, reaching up to him to be tossed again. "What can we do for you, Aunt Claudia?"

She folds her arms, watching him as he tosses Giovanna to the cushions. "I ordered a visit from the tailor," she says. "He's just arrived."

"A tailor?" Desmond asks, surprised enough to look away from the kids. "Why?"

She gives him an eyebrow and then looks at Giovanna and Matteo, still dressed in the clothes Desmond had made – something between rather futuristic children's clothes, and miniature assassin robes. "Well, I thought you all could do with change of clothes," she says. "It's the least I could do for what you did for Mother."

Desmond frowns and then picks Matteo up, as the boy runs to him to be tossed again. "I appreciate the thought but I didn't do it for payment."

"Neither did I," she says and pushes away from the doorway. "Go on, now. You can play with cushions after the tailor has taken your measurements."

"But I want to play more!" Giovanna says and Matteo nods against Desmond's shoulder.

"Don't you want a proper dress?" Claudia asks. "Like mine? You said you wanted one."

Giovanna is taken aback by that, and then torn – it's kind of hilarious watching her trying to make the decision between the offered dresses and the pile of cushions. "Oh, fine," she says then. "But only if it doesn't take long."

"The twins," Desmond says, letting Matteo down. "They've just settled down for a nap."

"I can watch them," Claudia says. "The tailor is in my office – I've told the servants to give you privacy. And the tailor is very discreet."

"… Thank you," Desmond says, only belatedly recalling that the golden lining on his skin is, after all, a little unusual and might cause a problem. What a thing to be worried about. "But I do not need new clothes, Lady Claudia, honestly."

She narrows her eyes. "I already paid for the service," she says primly and moves towards the twin's sitter. "Do me this gracious favour and don't make me waste my money."

Well. If she puts it that way. Maybe she can ask for a refund after, if… if.

Desmond sighs and nods. "I do appreciate the thought, thank you," he says, and looks at Giovanna. "I guess we better go, then."

It's something of a hassle to get the measurements done. The tailor keeps fawning over them, exclaiming over every feature and commenting on what colour would suit Desmond's complexion – apparently red and green, which, _no._  "White will do," Desmond says, uneasy. If he ever had to wear the man's clothes, it would be better if he didn't have to change their colour afterwards and humiliate the man.

"Ah, Assassin colours, I see, I see," the tailor says. "And, for the children as well?"

"Yes!" Giovanna says and Matteo nods quickly. "White and red!"

The Tailor frets over it, obviously not happy with such a palette, so Desmond amends that he can throw in shades of grey and ivory – just keep within the theme. Then the tailor spends some more time measuring arm lengths and chest width and whatnot, before pronouncing he had many designs in mind, and would soon produce them most wonderful – if boringly coloured – garments.

"What is wrong with white and red?" Giovanna asks with a huff.

"Not garish enough," Desmond says, amused. "We're sort of nobility now, sweetheart – and likely the man's best chance to display his wares."

"Huh," she says, thinking about it, and then shrugs her shoulders. "Can we go back to the pillows now?"

"Absolutely," Desmond says and swoops Matteo up to his arms. "Race you there."

"What – no, that's not fair – papa's giving Matteo a ride! Papa, that's not fair!"

Desmond basks in the noise shamelessly, while under their feet, power surges once more.

* * *

 

Ezio emerges from the Sanctuary later that night, not yet done, but determined. Desmond feels him move – feels the power of the Apple lingering on him like a cloak. It makes Desmond wary and uncertain whether he dares to go to him – it might only prove a distraction to Ezio if he told him now, it might take his mind off the task at hand.

And this close to the Apple's power, Ezio might finally get it, the truth about him - the threat of him. Which, while a good thing in a way, might mean Ezio would ultimately not do as he asked. Might not aid him at all.

Probably better leave him to it, after all.

The choice is taken from him, though – Ezio seeks him out, instead, barely knocking before entering.

Desmond puts down the book he wasn't even reading, and looks at the young man at his door. Ezio had donned on the robes – sans armour, but with the blade. He looks like a memory, like a revelation. Like something untouchable.

He also looks tense, his shoulders stiff, his fingers clenched.

"Hello," Desmond says warily.

"It showed me things," Ezio says tersely. "Visions of the future, and past, and other things – it promised me things, it – are the children asleep?" he asks then, looking up and towards the bedroom door.

"I put them to bed some time ago," Desmond agrees, taking him in. "Do you… want to talk about what you saw?"

"The things it promises, can it give them?" Ezio asks. "Immortality, power to raise the death, to stop time – can it do that?"

Ah. "No, but also… maybe," Desmond says and sighs. "I think Isu had the means to do some of those things. They were effectively immortal themselves, and I think it was through technology. They had the power to heal even past the point of death – but I doubt it stretched to decomposed corpses, just the very recently deceased. Stopping time… not literally, but they could see through it, and from their perspective future might've seemed like a fixed point – time that was… stalled."

Ezio breathes in and out slowly and closes his eyes. "So it half lies," he says and runs a hand over his face.

"It bends the truth," Desmond agrees. "I think at this point it knows you won't believe full lies, so, a bit of truth among all the trickery. What did it tell you?"

Ezio shakes his head and walks over, collapsing without ceremony beside Desmond on the couch, his elbows on the backrest. "I think it somehow tapped into some well of regret inside me, and is throwing everything I might ever want at me," he admits while kicking his boots off almost forcefully, sending them under the tea table. "And I can't say I am not tempted on occasion. But it feels false, all of it. Too good to be true."

Desmond nods slowly. "That's good. It mostly is."

"Mostly, yes."

There's a moment of silence, as Ezio stares at nothing, at mid-distance somewhere between the couch and the tea table. Then he looks at Desmond. Desmond looks back, thinking to reassure – but it's not distress in Ezio's eyes, not even concern or unease. It's something… unfathomable.

"If I use the Apple on you," the younger man says, his voice low, an echo of a honeyed growl he will have, in twenty years or so. "Will my wishes have the risk of coming to life as well?"

"Not… not in the same way," Desmond says slowly. "You need Faith to _make_ things… but if your wishes include…" he trails away, his eyes tracing to the side.

Ezio's hand is behind his shoulder – he's pinching the fabric of Desmond's rope between his fingers, insistent little tugging. He's also wearing the hidden blade, and at this angle he could put the blade into Desmond's spine. Desmond tries to concentrate onto that, rather than onto the minute touch, so fragile and persistent.

"If they include..." Ezio agrees, looking at where his fingers tug on Desmond's robes. Another moment of strange silence, and then Ezio's eyes find Desmond's. "It makes me hear things, too. It expanded my senses beyond their normal range, made me hear whispers. I heard you."

Desmond's eyelid twitches as the realisation hits.

"I heard you talking to Leonardo."

_…shit._

Desmond looks away from Ezio's dark, dark eyes, made darker by the hood he wears. Shit, shit, _shit._  He should've thought. The Apple and Ezio had been flexing power all over the place – and he _knew_ the Apple had a far reaching range. Concentrated, its power could easily reach the villa above, and pluck waves from the air – feed their discussion back to Ezio, to distract him, to breathe life to the flames of whatever fears he might have and gain advantage over them.

"Ezio, I meant to talk to you. After you were done – I didn't want to distract you," Desmond says, cursing himself silently. "I'm sorry. I should I have told you before –"

Ezio's fingers twist the fabric, tightening it over Desmond's shoulder. Desmond glances at him, feeling more than a little uncertain. Ezio's expression is inscrutable and yet conflicted, tight around the edges. It's almost vicious.

"The Apple is still affecting you, isn't it?" Desmond asks quietly. "You're in a very weird mood."

"Its whispers linger," Ezio admits darkly. "But not because of its power – because of my own feelings and fears. It promises me many things – including _you_. That with a _wish_ I could keep you here."

Desmond swallows. Oh. Well… damn. "You probably could," he admits quietly. And Desmond would probably let him.

Ezio plucks at his robes and then releases them. "Do you want to go?" he asks, low. "You wished for death before, when age wore on you more… But things have changed now, have they not? You've found joy here, I can _feel it_. So do you?"

Desmond considers his face, so determined and strong and young and so full of life, even now, when he's stilted with frustration and anger. Even in this strange mood of aggravation, Ezio is full of passion. It makes him… wishful.

"No," Desmond admits, selfishly, tracing his eyes down Ezio's face and then away. "I don't. But I still have to leave the message, and I don't know if I –"

That's about as far as he gets before Ezio grips him by the shoulder, puts his other hand on Desmond's chin, and abruptly and efficiently silences him.

 


	28. Chapter 28

There's a persistent buzzing under Ezio's skin, like he's full of bees – like he can't stay still, like he has to move. And perhaps the move he made is not the one he should have – Desmond goes so terribly still, it cannot be a good sign – but it seems like the only sensible thing, the one thing he knows. The one thing that he is sure of.

Desmond is in love with him. He loves Desmond. That is a certainty.

And still, the images flash behind his eyelids – a look on Giovanna's face when she's done searching the villa and the town, only to turn up empty. The expressionless silence of Matteo, when he clutched onto Giovanna's hand and never spoke a soft, shy word again. Federica and Pietra growing up cold and confused and never knowing the one obscure lovely thing they are missing from their lives. The villa, lacking a powerful sheen of distant sunlight, the glimmer of gold – the shade of Desmond, strange and powerful and sweet, like wine in a gold cask, impossible to ever replicate.

Desmond's beard feels prickly against his skin – Ezio isn't used to that, but he revels in it, concentrating onto the strange detail, brushing his fingers into it, rubbing against it. Desmond is still and Ezio leans into him, tracing his other hand up across his shoulder, to his neck, feeling the strong muscles there, nothing like the softness of a woman's skin and flesh. His hair feels softer than it looks – nothing like the coarseness Ezio expected. It's like silk.

Ezio tilts his head and kisses him more firmly, seeking a stable ground in the familiar and the strange. Apple had shown him sides of Desmond he didn't know he could trust, but above all, it had shown him the transience of him. The man, whether it is a Belief he holds or truth undeniable, thinks himself more of a construct now, and less a human being – held together by stubbornness and prayer. He forgets to eat, to drink, forgets the earthly needs that keep men alive – feels neither pleasure nor pain, not cold nor heat. Desmond thinks himself an illusion given shape, like the ones he created in defence of their family.

Three hundred years of enforced immortality and faith – Desmond has forgotten how to be a physical being with needs. Ezio can feel it in the breath he holds, in the thud of his heart, in the way he just sits there and lets Ezio take what he may – unresisting, not contributing. And it makes Ezio _ferocious_ with the need to show him, to pin him down and force him to see – he is a man, one whom Ezio loves, one that _feels_ -!

The Apple had promised this to him too – that he could bend Desmond to his will, have what he wanted, keep him, make him his. He'd seen glimpses of it, hot images drawn from his own frenzied imagination – what it might be like to have, to hold, to _take_. The Apple could make Desmond want it, make him shameless and wanton. With the Apple, Ezio could have him on his knees, begging for a touch.

That… is not what Ezio wants.

Desmond is still not reacting.

But he is not pulling back, either – not struggling to get away.

Ezio brushes his fingers over his scalp, caressing him, easing off the violence of the kiss. Desmond still holds his breath, holds his peace, and Ezio coaxes him, teases at the seam of his lips, brushing his thumbs over his beard, his ears, trying to soothe himself more than the man he's holding, trying to stamp the fire. Trying to make him see.

In all the images in his head, it is the loneliness that presses on him the worst. His own, projected across decades – a loveless existence of regret and disregard, where he put a stopper on his own heart and stemmed its joy. Where his children grew cold and unloved, unlovable, distant. Where the world stretched to grey years, empty. And Desmond, but a moment in time, distant and then gone. A mirage, swept away.

Ezio pulls back and leans his forehead on Desmond's. The older man, the God King of Golden City of Turin in a far distant future… refuses to look at him. And the slight pinched look on his face, the tension and regret therein, almost steals Ezio's breath. Almost.

Ezio leans up and kisses the line between Desmond's brows, willing the tension to be released, and says, softly, "Stay with me."

He can feel the man break, then. It runs in a wave through him, a shudder of fractures – Desmond's whole body quells. For a moment it feels like he will pull away – Ezio doesn't let him. So Desmond bends towards him, bowing his head – his forehead coming to rest against Ezio's shoulder while the golden-fingered hands take his wrist. The attempt to pull them away is pitiful at best.

Ezio pulls him close and holds him through the shaking. "Stay with us," Ezio says. "With our children. Our _family_. Do not entertain the belief of your own transience – this is not the time for you to slip away. We've only started."

"Ezio, no," the old man says, barely audible, and Ezio wraps his arms around his neck, clasping his hands over his elbows, making himself into a restraint to hold him together.

"I can feel it," Ezio murmurs, in his ear. "How you think, how you _fear_. You've existed so long for others. Have this one thing for yourself, have this life for your own." And when that doesn't have the effect he wants, he brushes his lips against Desmond's silver hair, spotting the gold underneath – even on his scalp, the power has drawn lines. "Have this one life for me."

"My message –"

"We'll make it," Ezio promises firmly. "And it will not undo you. I will not let it – but I can't do that if you still hold the idea of death in your mind. You must want to stay. Do you?"

Desmond's hands grip tighter on his wrists, and Ezio can feel the strength of them – he could push Ezio away, if he wanted to. Could break his wrists in his grip, if he chose to. But instead the hands drop, to trail down Ezio's robes, to grip at his waist, fingers tightening and loosening urgently.

When Desmond lifts his head, Ezio doesn't hesitate to press for advantage – kissing him again, softly, sweetly. And this time, Desmond yields to it, rather than merely endure it.

There is a spark of bitterness there, in Desmond's core, barely alive and almost smothered after centuries of selflessness. A whisper of _why me_ and _why can't I have that_. Ezio rises to meet it with, _you can, you can, you can, have it, take it, it's yours,_ and gives it all he has, coaxing Desmond through the reservations until finally, finally, Desmond moves.

For his age, Desmond is not a skilled kisser. He has forgotten how. Ezio is more than happy enough to show him – and does so with all he can muster, pushing until the wrought gold core bends and Desmond begins to relax. Gold is a malleable, soft metal, after all – there's a give to it. That's why it is so easy to make beautiful things out of it.

By the time Ezio pulls back, Desmond has finally gotten the message. There is still regret in his eyes, but when he opens his mouth to object – and Ezio can hear the objections, age, strangeness, power, all the reasons why not, he silences them with his thumb.

"You have lived three hundred years and more," Ezio says. "Don't belittle me by telling me I could do better, have someone younger. You might outlive me yet."

"Ezio," Desmond sighs. "You young, beautiful _idiot_."

Ezio grins at that, delighted. There he is. "I love you," he says, stroking his thumb down the line on Desmond's cheek, where the golden markings run 9 to his beard. "And don't you dare object."

Desmond laughs at that and shakes his head. "I wouldn't dare," he murmurs, tugging at the lapels of Ezio's robe – for a moment feeling as though he was aiming to take them off. Instead, he straightened them, pressing his hand on Ezio's breast, leaning back. "But how much of this is the Apple speaking – "

Ezio tugs at his hair, what little he can get a hold of, and Desmond winces. "About as much as you is immaterial," Ezio says, soothing the area. "None of it is. The Apple has thrown all my fears and desires and urges at me to try and make me bend, and the worst it has made is made me fear your absence. My love is my own – ask Leonardo, he knows the embarrassment I made of myself, realising it."

The older man hesitates for a moment and then nods, accepting that. "I…" he says and frowns. "I don't know what to do with it."

"I do," Ezio says, smiling, and leans in a little.

Desmond gives him an unimpressed look. "Well, of course you do," he says. "But all things considered, this can't – "

"Why ever not? Because it is wrong, illegal, immoral, because of family, of reputation? I am a murder and a whore and a killer – and you a near immortal from the future in possession of a godly power. We're already family. Who's to get in the way?"

Desmond opens his mouth to list reasons, and as Ezio arches his brow, he falls silent, frowning. "About that," he says then. "Being family."

"I know," Ezio says.

The older man frowns and looks at him warily.

"The Apple threw everything it could at me," Ezio shrugs. "I already suspected. I don't care."

"I think you should," Desmond says warily. "For me to exist in the future at all…"

Ezio shakes his head. "That future is far away – and ways to reach it are many. You  _do_ realise I will likely never marry in this life, don't you?"

"You didn't think so before – it wasn't until your late fifties that you did," Desmond says.

Ezio considers that and then shakes his head. "Well, perhaps I might. But it is still a distant thing, a potential that might or might not come to pass," he says, and turns Desmond's face to him. "I will help you, I will give you what you want – but I will not let that be the reason I can't love you, too."

Desmond lets out a breath, half a scoff and half a laugh. "That's a little bit messed up, you realise."

"So are our lives," Ezio says and looks at him seriously. "You can't object my feelings away. Nor your own, I think."

Desmond still struggles, and this time Ezio lets him, not pressing to distract. He's right, he knows he is. "You're deciding this on a _whim_ ," Desmond murmurs, a feeble argument at most, and leans for him.

"I'm not," Ezio promises. "It's a decision three hundred years in the making."

* * *

 

There is still the Apple of Eden to be quelled, and the message to be composed. This gives them time – gives Desmond time to settle, and Ezio to allow his conviction grow roots. And they are already deep.

"You cannot have me," Ezio tells the Apple, when it throws one last attempt at him, trying to persuade him with the pleasures he had yet to experience with Desmond, whose first instinct is still to shy away from touch. "Nor can you have _him_. We are already spoken for."

He thinks of the looks Desmond tries not to give him, the flush of his ears when Ezio kisses him, the moment when the children woke and Desmond settled, thinks of holding a hand to Desmond's back and feeling it belongs. Family, family, family. Nothing had ever been more important to Ezio Auditore da Firenze than family, and _this_ is _his_.

The Apple lets out one last wail, promising him riches, power, wealth, kingdoms, depicting him as the god king of all Italia, showing him crowns made of fractured gold and a sceptre of the Pope, a cape of red and gold with great power, a sword of light and fire – glimpses of other Pieces of Eden, lost, claimed, powerful. Ezio shakes it off, he wants none of it.

He wants Desmond, his children, happiness with his family. And all that he already has – the Apple cannot give him what he is not lacking, cannot tempt him with what he does not want. Ezio is, at last, content – and the Apple, at last, falls silent in his hand, its power shimmering but reigned, its will broken.

Above in the Villa, Desmond is playing with the children, his world concentrated onto them and thus satisfied. But he is not content. He still hesitates, still fears and worries. Thinks of Ezio and feels himself in the wrong, too greedy, too old, too selfish. Still thinks he does not deserve what he is being offered, that he is not allowed to take it.

Ezio looks at the Apple in his hand and turns his will upon it. "Tell me how do I make him content," he commands – and the Apple does as he demands.

The power of it is unimaginable. He thought Desmond was powerful – beyond powerful, almost godly. But the Apple is more. It is knowledge and understanding, it is a revelation held in his fingertips, options and possibilities thrown at him, thousand little ways he could go about this, thousand ideas and theories… It is a machine of _thought_ as well as power – it might not have Desmond's ethereal power of turning thought to a _thing_ , but it has an unfathomable well of information and the means to apply them.

Ezio shifts through them, his mind awhirl with possibilities, with impossible information – with this device he could make himself knowledgeable beyond all human understanding. He could build great things, greater even than Desmond knew, and he could understand them. It is all there – all the knowledge of the Isu, and the _intelligence_ to produce so much more. The Apple takes his thoughts – and elaborates them with whirling, maddening power.

Ezio closes his eyes and then quells the Apple again – he has what he needs, now. Too much, even. Lord. No wonder Desmond feared the damned thing – even without the malicious will behind it, the temptation is so great. The Fruit of Knowledge, indeed.

Ezio puts the Apple away, he silences his presence, stamps down on his own power, and goes to find Desmond. Then, his mind still astir with what he now knows, he stands by the doorway and watches Desmond play with their children, silent, unnoticed.

He knows now why he does it. Why Desmond so desperately enjoys it. It makes the scene all the more sweet and sad.

"Daddy!" Matteo is the first to notice him and to come to him – Desmond is surprised, turning around to look at him. The man had not felt him. Ezio shrugs at him, smiling, and picks Matteo up, kissing his cheek.

"Where have you been?" Giovanna demands,

"Working, dear heart," Ezio says and goes to join them at the soft blanket, where Federica and Pietra are patting at soft, colourful toys and Giovanna sits surrounded by wooden blocks. "But I am done now."

Desmond eyes him warily, but when Ezio takes his hand and kisses it, he does not object. "Well," the Assassin from the Future says. "We were about to build a castle – you can lend a hand."

Ezio grins, thinking, _only if you give me yours in return_ , and helps gladly.

* * *

 

There is dinner, where Ezio only half answers Claudia's and Mario's questions. Leonardo eyes him warily and then seems to decide he is fine and leaves it be. Desmond remains the tensest, but feeding their children distracts him, as it does Ezio, who takes up the task of feeding the twins. He has not held them in far too long.

They are growing bigger so fast – soon, they would be crawling all over, soon, they would have difficulty to keep track of them. He cannot _wait_.

"There you go, sweetheart," Ezio murmurs as Pietra burps against his shoulder, rocking her in his arms. "There is my princess, there you go."

Desmond watches him with wary attention, but makes no mention of it, and they get through the evening meal in peace, if with some tension slowly building up. Desmond knows he's done – doesn't know what it means yet. What it means to master the Apple, because for all the power he'd drawn from it, he never had.

Lord knows how powerful he would be now, if he had – what this sort of access to knowledge could do to him. And, oh, Ezio could understand it now. He could have the Apple teach him the same knowledge Desmond knows, his science, and then he could understand too. It's tempting.

Instead Ezio finishes feeding Federica and then rises, the twins in his arms. "I will take them to bed," he excuses himself. "Or did you mean to bathe them?"

"It can wait until morning," Desmond decided, concerned. "Do they need cleaning?"

"Doesn't feel like it," Ezio says, checking. "No, they seem fine."

"Then… alright. I'll catch up with up once Matteo is finished."

Ezio nods, heads off, rocking the twins gently as he goes and humming to them, reciting melodies half heard through the Apple, songs of the future long, long years away from now. He thinks Desmond might know it. He thinks it might have come to him from Desmond's head.

Ezio hums the lyrics quietly, while rocking the twins' crib and easing them off to sleep, when Desmond and the older kids join them. Desmond pauses briefly at the doorway while Giovanna exclaims, excitedly but quietly, "Daddy's singing!" and then rushes closer to listen.

"Not much of a signing, I don't have the sense of rhythm for it, I'm afraid," Ezio admits, smiling, as she worms her way into his arms. "But it seemed like a nice thing to do. It soothed the twins right up."

"Sing some more," she says.

"No, Giovanna, it's time to brush your teeth and then it's time for bed," Desmond says, Matteo on his arm. "Come on, now."

She makes a noise of objection and Ezio kisses her cheek. "I'll sing you a lullaby later," he promises and pushes her off his lap. "Go with papa now."

She grumbles, but goes. Ezio smiles after them, listening to the sound of water and brushing as they go through Desmond's careful evening rituals. The twins are well into slumber now, and not likely to wake for many hours – they sleep almost through the whole night, now.

Ezio watches them, content, until Desmond returns and it is time to lay the older children down. Giovanna comes to him then, to tug at his hand, telling him to tuck her in and sing, because he promised, and Ezio goes, carried away by the utter, settled love he feels.

Desmond is still watching him, wistfulness and fondness mixed with concern. Ezio takes his hand, and together they ease the children to sleep.

"You've mastered the Apple," Desmond says, after, once both Giovanna and Matteo are deep asleep, and silence hangs like a protective blanket over their family.

"Yes," Ezio agrees.

"I…" Desmond starts to say and then shifts where he sits, uneasy. He didn't expect this as a result – he expected exhaustion and wariness and perhaps some level of jadedness from Ezio, afterwards. He expected the process to _wear him down._ Maybe even ruin him. He doesn't know what to do with this effect, and he's wary of it, fears it. It seems like a trick to him.

Ezio reaches over Matteo and presses a kiss to Desmond's lip. "I'm fine," he promises, brushing his fingers through Desmond's beard. "Everything is okay."

"Now that's a worrisome statement," Desmond says, even as he leans into his hand. "What is on your mind? I can't tell anymore."

Ezio leans in and presses his forehead against Desmond's. "The Apple showed me a thousand potential ways to make you happy," he says and grins. "And I know just how I am going to make you stay here."

Desmond swallows, his face paling a little. "Okay, that – is even more worrisome," he says. "Ezio, you can't trust it."

"It's mine now – I _can_ ," Ezio says and strokes his lips with his thumb. "I could make you human again, body and mind – take the power of Faith from you, make you forget it. Or I could make you an Isu, and get rid of the part of you that feels exhausted with time, make immortality as natural as breathing. Or I could go into your mind and fade out the years in your memory, smooth out your perception of your own life, make it seem less tiring. I could – "

"Stop," Desmond murmurs. "God damn it, Ezio – that's _messed up_ , that's _dangerous._ "

Ezio smiles wider. "But I think what I will do is this;" he says. "I will have you adopt our children. Make Giovanna not Giovanna da Firenze, but Giovanna _Miles_ da Firenze. Matteo _Miles_ da Forlì. Federica and Pietra _Miles_ da Venezia."

Desmond's breath catches, his amber eyes widening – and through them Ezio can see the younger man within, who'd never truly grown old, only tired and so lonely. Who still hardly dares to hope.

The Assassin shrugs at him. "Federica and Pietra need to be baptised anyway. Might as well redo the whole lot at the same time," he says, looking at him steadily. "Make you family. What do you say?"

Desmond breathes shakily in and out, in and out. Then, very quietly, he says, " _Yes_."

Ezio grins and pulls him into his arm. "And after that," he says to his ear. "Your message. And you will damn well stay here afterwards."

Desmond lets out a hysterical laugh. "… yeah," he agrees weakly. "Yeah, I guess I damn well will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this thing squared away. One more chapter to go, I think.


	29. Chapter 29

Desmond moves through the ruins under the town at night, when the others are sleeping. He technically spends most of his day asleep in the Animus, so he's not all that tired at night – but since everyone else is asleep, and no one trusts him to stand on watch… he finds other things to occupy himself with. And there's only so many runs he can take around the town of Monteriggioni before the people there might start getting suspicious.

So, the ruins. They're a sight to behold too.

Running his hand over the walls as he walks, Desmond takes in all the traced lines over old stone work. You can't see it with the naked eye, and as the old mines have been sealed off for the better part of five centuries, no one had taken any scientific equipment and seen… so, he's fairly sure only he knows just how much _gold_ there is in these ruins. It's hidden under a layer of rock, invisible except in a few places where the brickwork had crumbled, but somehow, by some possibly Piece of Eden related miracle, there is gold, imbedded, where it shouldn't be. Probably several kilograms worth of it. It makes grids and fractal patterns – like circuitry, and it's only visible to Eagle Vision.

Desmond can't stop looking at it. He's not sure why he didn't tell the others – well, he mentioned it to Lucy, but she just told him to mind the present, not get lost in the Bleeding Effect. He's pretty sure this _isn't_ Bleeding Effect though. He keeps finding new trails of it, new sections, little paths leading here and there. It has to be at least a _bit_ supernatural in nature, he'll grant that much – but it's real.

"Where to tonight?" he murmurs, finding a crack on the wall where the gold shows just a little, just enough to reflect the light of his glow stick. Desmond taps his finger against it, and there's a little shockwave that runs down the circuitry, like a pulse, tracing down, down, away.

Lifting the glow stick, Desmond turns to follow it.

There's gold imbedded in the town above too, but not as much. Broken trails that run down the street, streaks on the walls – it was as though at some point in history people had discovered and dug them up, replacing the stonework afterwards. Maybe they had. He can almost imagine how it used to be – and he thinks the centre of it all is somewhere in here. It wasn't in the Sanctuary anyway, not in the Villa. And all the circuitry seems to be leading… down.

So down Desmond goes, clambering over the rotten wood and crumbling stone, tapping on the circuitry wherever it shows through the stone and following the pulses.

He can see the echoes of Bleeding Effect ahead of him. Ezio, not in his robes and armour, but in regular clothes, vest and shirtsleeves, casual – laughing. He's walking with someone into the darkness, but Desmond can't quite tell who. Curious, he follows.

The chamber they and the circuitry lead him to is sealed by a stone door, but he can see – it's covered in golden lines. There's a… plate, in the middle, shaped like a hand, focal point of the golden lines, circled by them. It glimmers sharply – important.

Hanging the glow stick on his waist, Desmond places his hand on it. There's an immediate flash of light that expands away from his hand and races down all the circuitry – then, a heavy, stony _clunk_ of a mechanism. The stone door doesn't lift or move aside or anything like that – but under the merest pressure of his hand, it pushes forward, swinging open, light as a feather.

Air rushes past him and into the chamber – filling the space with an almost audible snap. As if there was a vacuum inside.

"Okay, that's… different," Desmond murmurs, wondering if he should _now_ go get the others – but then he sees what's inside.

A pedestal, heavy and golden-lined, with four objects on it, all perfectly preserved in the vacuum. A disk of gold, what looks like a hidden blade, and a glowing cube, which is casting white light into the chamber… and a rolled up piece of parchment, with a word written on top. _Desmond_.

It's a moment before Desmond accepts the inevitable and breaks the wax seal and rolls the letter open, to read it in the light of the glow stick and the strange cube. It's written in English.

> Desmond
> 
> In front of you are the fruits of many centuries of labour. A memory disk. A hidden blade with a hidden power. And, just as a little bonus, a power source for a Temple you will have to go to sooner or later. You will know eventually what you need it for. We found it in Rome. You're welcome.
> 
> The main thing is the memory disk. It works a lot like the Animus, but also not – devices like these were what the Animus was derived from. The Isu – the First Civilisation as you know them – stored their memories in this way, and some of those remain. This one has only my memories, and though there are some memories of the past here, there are more of the future. Future which I hope you will prevent.
> 
> Though it may happen at the cost of your life.
> 
> For that, I'm sorry, but for that I also have a shred of hope for you. The hidden blade – I built it for you, to use at your discretion. It is mostly made of gold, and weak against humans – I wouldn't recommend you to stab anyone with it, you'll ruin it for sure… but it wasn't meant to kill people.
> 
> It will kill any Isu program you might want to delete. It took me… many years to make it. I hope it fits – I don't quite have the musculature anymore, so measurement was so and so.
> 
> View the memory disk, it will explain everything. It will take you hours, much like using the Animus – I recommend you lay down. And I hope you don't judge yourself too badly for what you see.
> 
> And please know that you were loved, now and always.
> 
> \- Desmond Miles

* * *

 

Moving past the parishioners, Desmond approaches the figures at the front. No one cares about him, no one sees him – he's a ghost in the scene of the baptism, an extra that had accidentally wandered off to the set. Not even the men at the front see him.

Ezio is holding one of the babies in his arms, both dressed in Assassin white. He's grinning at the baby, younger than he is in the memories Desmond is viewing in the Animus, strange. Somehow, none of this wasn't in the Animus. Like it never happened.

"Papa," Giovanna whispers, tugging at the hem of white and red robes of an older man, who is holding the other baby. "Papa, I need to pee."

The old man laughs, pushing his hood slightly aside with one gold-fingered hand, the lines on his face gleaming metallic under the light of the candles and the sun. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry, but I think you're going to have to hold it," he says quietly. "We're about to begin."

"I told you to go before we came," Ezio says, looking worried. "Didn't you go, dear heart?"

"Well, I did, but then I drank also," the little girl says and shifts her footing from one foot to another. "Papa, can't you just…" she wiggles her finger.

The old man blinks at her and then looks up. "Um," he says, horrified. "Well, technically, yes, I _could_ … but good god, the _mess_."

Ezio laughs and hands him the babe he's holding. "I'll take her," he says, while they do the exchange with the settled ease of parents who had done similar manoeuvre many times. "Mind Matteo before he's lost in the crowd."

And there is quite the crowd, looks like most of Monteriggioni is there, including Ezio's family and Leonardo da Vinci. Desmond watches them from the side while the old, gold-adorned man hurriedly ushers a curious three year old away from the crowd, and everyone settles to wait which one would be faster to arrive – the priest or Ezio.

It's a beautiful, messy, joyful ceremony – and it doesn't take much to see what the baptism actually stands for. Both Ezio and the old man who is adopting the children in his name – in _Desmond's name,_ are dressed in ceremonious white, and they steal glances at each other, pointed and heavy with meaning. Desmond can just imagine what they'd do later to seal the deal.

The whole thing is _ridiculous_ and unbelievable. Desmond had seen everything, like promised, but damn. It's still weird, seeing his own face at that age and at the receiving end of _that look_ from Ezio Auditore.

"What does this part even have to do with saving the world?" Desmond mutters, a little confused. It's a happy scene, he doesn't mind it having been included, and the old man is obviously beyond the moon here, and it's kind of nice, but… why show him any of it?

"It would have been a little unfair, not to."

Desmond blinks and then looks up. The scene has stalled, all the players frozen on stage – only his counterpart is moving, setting the babies he's holding in Ezio's still arms and then moving back.

"What the fuck," Desmond says, flatly.

"Obviously I'm not real," the old man explained. "I am a memory imprint, an AI, if you will. I have a mindset, some memories, and can answer some questions – I felt it was prudent to leave something behind to make sure you got the message."

"Yeah, I got the message," Desmond says, shaking his head. "And let me just say, _Jesus Christ_."

The old man chuckles and moves past his frozen family, looking at them fondly and holding a hand briefly to Ezio's shoulder before moving away. "This message was made three days after the ceremony," he says. "I don't know if others were made or not – were there other disks? Where did you even find this one?"

"Under the Sanctuary – in the sewers, the ruins – whatever they are. And no, there weren't any other messages, just a letter, a hidden blade and a power source to the Grand Temple," Desmond says and folds his arms. It was bad enough when the memories were just memories and he couldn't affect them, but this one _speaks_. It's bizarre. "The gold there – I guess you turned it into your, uh, Domain?"

"Did I?" the old man asks. "Hm. I hadn't yet at the time I made this message. It must have come later," he says. "Well, no matter. In either case, I don't know if other messages were made, but my memories – the memories recorded in this disc end here," he says, motioning to the ceremony. "It all depends on where you stop telling the story, and I want to make this a happy one."

Desmond clears his throat. "Orson Wells?" he asks and the old man grins.

"I wasn't sure, but I guess?" he says. "We lost almost all movies after the flare. By the time there was any hope of reconstructing them from memories, people who remembered them had died."

"That… sucks," Desmond says. "That really sucks, I'm sorry."

The old man shrugs and looks around. "What a place to end up after all that," he muses. "Still no movies."

"Hm," Desmond answers, still a bit weirded out. The old man gives him a look and Desmond blows out a breath. "Sorry, I'm just still not quite over the fact that you and _Ezio_ became like a… parental unit. And probably had sex."

"Probably," the old man agrees, looking away and smiling, a little bit embarrassed.

"How does that even _happen_?" Desmond asks. "And why isn't _any of this_ in Ezio's memories?"

"It isn't? Hm," the old answers. "That's… curious. I think you might be getting an edited version, in that case. I wondered if that would happen – there are some things they wouldn't let you see. The Isu. And Ezio comes into contact with them later – if things happened the way they did, then likely the Nexus edited out his genetic memories, the ones passed on to you."

"Nexus?"

"It's a thing he encounters later in life, if things go how they did for me, you will learn about it eventually," the old man says and sighs. "Humans are terribly malleable, when it comes to memories, even ones encoded in our DNA."

Desmond folds his arms and wonders if from here on out he will be looking for a _family-shaped holes_ in Ezio's memories. Like, here, there should be an older husband and _four kids,_ which are missing. Here, when Ezio is turning to talk to no one and the scene just cuts off, here there was a significant other. Hell, what does that mean for the bathing scene? Was Caterina trying to make Ezio _cheat_? No wonder the memory cut off at a bang of someone opening the door.

Desmond winces and really hopes Ezio _didn't_ cheat. It didn't look like he was all that into having half-naked woman in his room anyway. It was weird, all told.

Ugh. All of this is weird.

"So, now what?" Desmond asks.

"That depends on you," the old man says. "I can tell you what I would have done, but the choice is yours. Your future is already not my past – just our meeting here makes it all go away."

"Right," Desmond says and shakes his head. "You realise how messed up this all is, right?"

"Oh, I lived for three hundred years, travelled back in time and ended up having a family with my own ancestor – my tolerance for _messed up_ is rather… relative," the old man chuckles and look him over. "You look the same. I wasn't even sure you'd be born."

"That _you'd_ be born," Desmond mutters. "God, how hasn't – all of this fucked up the timeline six ways to Sunday?"

The old man laughs and then sighs, looking up at the church roof. "What's to say it hasn't?" he wonders. "Likely it was the Isu. Minerva. If you saw the same prophesy that I did, then so did Ezio – so will Ezio, from my point of view. They need you, you know. At the Grand Temple."

"To die for them," Desmond mutters – and then remembers the golden hidden blade… which can kill Isu programming. Like Juno. "Right. So, what is it that you would've done?" he asks, looking at the old man.

"How much time do you have?" the old man asks.

"All night."

"Well then," the Godking of the Golden City of Turin says. "First of all, Subject Sixteen. Clay – how far along are you in collecting his fragments?"

"…His fragments?" Desmond asks, frowning. "You mean the symbols he left in the Animus – in Ezio's files?"

The old man sighs, smiling, looking wistful, nostalgic. "Yeah," he says. "Those things."

"I've only found a few, maybe? In Rome, I mean – I found all the ones in Florence, Tuscany, Venice…" Desmond shakes his head. "Mindblowing stuff, though I am not sure how those things will help me – we already know what will happen, what did happen."

"Yeah, no. I mean the ones in Rome, they're the important ones, the precious ones," the old man says and looks at him. "You're going to need a hard drive – a big one."

* * *

 

Desmond emerges from… the other Desmond's memories slowly, finding himself no longer in the church of Monteriggioni, but lying on the floor of the golden heart of the Domain that Monteriggioni used to be, a long time ago. He can only imagine what the old man had done there, what it had been for – there'd still been a siege, Monteriggioni was still lost, Ezio still went to Rome… with his family, Desmond hopes, but it's hard to tell. Now that he knows that his memories, Ezio's memories, are only the abridged, edited snippets…

Flipping the memory disk between his fingers, Desmond stands up swiftly and looks at the pedestal, the golden hidden blade still sitting on it beside the Isu power source. Then he sets the disc down and goes to strap the hidden blade on his right arm, tightening the leather straps until it sits snug on his inner arm.

Ezio's blade on his dominant left hand, and the old man's on the right. It's almost poetic – like they're still somehow together.

"Christ," Desmond murmurs and wipes at his eyes. The golden blade would be staying with him probably until the end, too. Until death do you apart. Though preferably not. It's a weird way to have his hand held, but damn, Desmond would take it. His life is weird enough, he's not going to turn down a bit of help.

"Thanks, old man," he murmurs, flicking the golden blade out. The blade looks the same as the usual variety, though the whole construction is a whole lot fancier and a little bit heavier. Predictably, it's carved full of circuitry, and he can almost feel the programming flickering underneath, the power trapped within the mechanisms. A technological poison, a virus, to kill Juno with. Man, the things three hundred year old grudge can produce.

Running his fingers over the blade and snapping it back into its sheath, Desmond sighs.

It's… hard not to be a bit jealous. The whole thing is still so _weird,_ but damn. The old man looked so _happy_. With Ezio of all people, a young, not even thirty years old _Ezio_. Christ, talk about May-December relationship. 

Desmond wants that. Not specifically the May-December relationship, but that happiness, that... domestic bliss. He _wants_ that. And he's damn well not going to wait three hundred years to get it.

With the golden blade settled comfortably under his sleeve, Desmond picks up the power source, the disk and the letter. How he's going to swing getting a hard drive big enough to hold all the pieces of Clay Kaczmarek, he's not sure, but he'd get it, steal it if he has to.

Now what the hell is he going to tell the others about any of this…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “God gave us the gift of life; it is up to us to give ourselves the gift of living well.”  
> \- Voltaire
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Aaand that's it. That's the story, it aint perfect but it's done. At long last, lol.
> 
> (Later New!Desmond will stab Juno and put Clay into the Grand Temple and no one damn well dies and the world is saved and everyone is happy and who knows, they have lot in common so maybe Desmond might stay around the Grand Temple to chat Clay up a bit, anything could happen.
> 
> (And maybe sometime later Desmond goes to the Library in Masyaf and finds another Memory Disk left for him, several decades later, showing him a life damn well lived.)


End file.
